


Let It Snow

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [8]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman (Comics), Captain America (Movies), DCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supergirl (TV 2015), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Holiday Giveaway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 45,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: [chanty's tumblr holiday giveaway]#31. Steve/Natasha - She remembers being pulled back, Steve’s fingers digging into her arm as he spun her around, putting himself between her and the crowd as agents flooded the stage. Everything after that is just ablur.





	1. Steve/Natasha + royal au + trapped in a snowstorm + sharing body heat

**Author's Note:**

> The collection as a whole is rated M to be safe, but ratings will vary by chapter, which I note at the beginning of the drabble along with the prompt being filled, just in case something isn't your cup of tea.
> 
> Most of the prompts will be Marvel, but I do have a handful of DC prompts as well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not an infant, you know,” Natasha points out, only partially indignant, but mostly teasing. Steve gives her a dimpled grin and her mother laughs. “I would’ve managed.”
> 
> “Yes, you would have,” her mother agrees, sounding every bit sincere. “But you would’ve been incredibly lonely, too. At least you have Steve to keep you warm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** royal au + trapped in a snowstorm + sharing body heat  
>  **for:** bloodredmoon87
> 
> Oh, how I’ve missed this ‘verse!

“I promise I’m fine, Mother. It’s just a little snow.”

On the other end of the video call, her mother worries her lower lip between her teeth. It was the one habit she couldn’t always control, and one that usually came out when she was particularly distressed. Natasha’s chest tightens ever so slightly. She hates it when her parents are upset, of course, but she especially hates it when they’re upset because of _her_. Not that her mother would’ve expected Natasha to predict that the snowstorm would pick up just hours before they had planned to leave, but still. With her father and brother both out of the country, she knows nothing will be able to distract her mother from imagining all of the dangerous situations that could come from Natasha being snowed into her mountain cabin.

She imagines freezing to death would be toward the top of her list of scenarios, especially when Natasha gives a full-bodied shudder, nearly dropping her mug of hot cocoa.

“Oh, darling,” her mother says, forehead wrinkling in concern. “You must be freezing. Please tell me you have plenty of blankets.”

“We have them by the dozens,” Steve chimes in, draping a fleece blanket over the woven throw Natasha already had draped over her shoulders. Her mother’s face relaxes ever so slightly at the sight of him, as if just remembering that her daughter wasn’t left to fend for herself. “She’s also got two layers of socks on, and I have the fire going.”

“Good, that’s good.” Her mother exhales a breath. “I’m glad you’re there to take care of her. I know Howard would’ve lost it if his little girl had been trapped on a mountain all alone.”

“I’m not an infant, you know,” Natasha points out, only partially indignant, but mostly teasing. Steve gives her a dimpled grin and her mother laughs. “I would’ve managed.”

“Yes, you would have,” her mother agrees, sounding every bit sincere. “But you would’ve been incredibly lonely, too. At least you have Steve to keep you warm.”

Natasha wills herself not to flush as she hums in agreement and attempts to take a nonchalant sip of her tea. No more than a few hours ago, Steve had said almost those exact words to her in a low, breathy, broken voice, lips pressed right next to her ear as he fucked her from behind. She couldn’t quite remember how they’d gone from cuddling to hastily trying to yank each other’s clothes off under the tangle of blankets, but she’s certain it had started with the way Steve kept slipping his hand under her sweater while they’d been kissing. That had quickly turned to more urgent touches and deeper kisses, then her sweater had come off altogether, and he’d turned her over and onto her knees and slid into her from behind.

Not that she’s about to tell her mother any of this.

Steve stretches up to his full height, leaving his face out of view from her mother as he winks at Natasha and says, “Speaking of which, let me get back to that fire.”

Natasha knows that she must make some noise in acknowledgment, and she knows that her mother is starting to talk again; something about how her father’s business in France was going. But Natasha can’t bring herself to focus on anything other than Steve as he drags the blankets and pillows onto the plush carpet and begins setting them up by the hearth.

“—is something the matter, dear?” her mother asks, snapping Natasha’s attention onto her. She looks amused, and Natasha knows she’s been caught.

Whether her mother is aware of how intimate her daughter and her bodyguard are with each other is still something Natasha is trying to figure out. For the most part, her mother seems perfectly oblivious. But more recently, there have been moments, just like this one, that make Natasha question if it’s all an act.

“Sorry,” Natasha says, giving a smile she hopes comes off as sheepish rather than guilty. “The fire just looks so warm and distracting, is all.”

“Well, don’t let me hold you back.” Expression softening, she adds, “Call me in the morning, alright?”

“I will,” Natasha promises with a bit of a laugh, something her mother doesn’t even seem a little bit offended by. They both know that she’ll let her worries fester for another hour or two before relenting and calling Natasha herself before the night is over.

After Natasha has hung up and set her tablet aside, she glances over to find Steve’s back to her as he tends to the fire, making her gnaw on her lower lip as a burst of warmth slides through her veins. They’d turned down most of the lights before her mother had called, and with the storm making it almost pitch black outside, the only light was coming from the fireplace, silhouetting Steve and his broad shoulders and his sweater pulled tight around his muscles. She’s itching to touch them, to feel them flex under her fingertips, and just the thought of seeing the contours of his chest illuminated by the hearth is almost enough to make her swoon where she stands. It should be crime for him to be so damn _tempting._

She crosses the room and wraps her arms around him from the side, tucking herself into his chest as he loops an arm around her waist.

“I can’t wait to cuddle with you,” he says as he draws her toward the carpet. She arches an eyebrow as he lays her down on a mountain of pillows and braces himself above her, tugging a cream-colored fleece over the both of them.

“Is that really what you’ve been waiting for?” she asks, one eyebrow arched.

“Of course.” He gives her a crooked, boyish grin as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of her yoga pants, slowly, almost torturously sliding them down her thighs. She knows that she’s already wet – she can _feel_ it – and she knows that Steve can feel it, too. His eyes are twinkling as he takes his time tugging her yoga pants off, tossing them aside before dragging his knuckles over the damp front of her panties. She gnaws on her lower lip, opens her legs up for him, just a little bit more. “But is that the _only_ thing I’ve been waiting for?” he continues, dragging his knuckles back and forth, back and forth, until her eyelashes are fluttering closed and she’s softly rocking her hips upward, wanting _more_ , needing _more_.

“Steve,” she breathes, tugging at her own sweater. It’s suddenly too hot, and she needs it _off_.

He chuckles, watching her squirm for a moment before pulling his hand away from her sex and grasping at the hem of her sweater, sliding it up her body. Rather than tugging it completely off, however, he gets it wrapped around her wrists, keeping them knotted together above her head. Her stomach flutters, her heart almost stopping altogether.

“I’ve also been waiting for _this_ ,” he says, then tugs the cup of her bra out of the way so he can wrap his lips around one of her nipples. He grazes it just barely with his teeth before giving a particularly hard suck, making her hips roll up.

Then he pulls his mouth off, and the most pathetic sound falls from her lips. If she’s this worked up after barely a couple of minutes, she can only imagine what the night has in store for her. Steve is infinitely more patient than her, and despite her protests, she quite likes it when he takes his time.

“Tell me, Nat,” he starts, making her eyelashes flutter open to catch his gaze as he’s sliding his hands down her sides. “Do you know one way to survive the cold?”

She feels her lips quirk. “Body heat?” she asks, her tone one of perfect ignorance.

She can see Steve barely repressing a chuckle. “Correct,” he tells her. “Something, I might add, that is far more effective without so many clothes in the way.” He tugs her panties down her slowly, so she can feel the lace as it drags down her hips, her thighs, her calves. She doesn’t know how he can make something so simple feel so incredibly _dirty_ , but she can’t say that she minds it much. He pushes her thighs apart, continuing with: “And considering how cold it is, I’ll make sure you’re very thoroughly warmed up tonight, Princess.”

Then he slides two fingers into her wet heat, and she knows the shudder that ripples over her has nothing at all to do with the storm.


	2. Barry/Thea + aphrodisiac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All things considered, Thea lucked out. Every scan of the aphrodisiac determined it’s harmless.”
> 
> “Just incredibly hormone-inducing.” Barry runs a hand over his face, mumbling, “I’m sure that’ll put Oliver’s mind at ease.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** very light M  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** aphrodisiac  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> Surprisingly, smut did not make it into this. I may have to make a Part II so that can be remedied.

“Oliver is going to kill me. He _is_. And I can’t outrun him because Thea is his sister which means the Bro Code is in effect which means it’s okay if he kills me which means—”

“ _Barry_ ,” Caitlin cuts him off, her tone exasperated and amused and patient all in one breath. His entire body comes to a halt in the middle of his pacing, and he winces, turning on his heels to face her. “If you go into a panic then we really won’t be able to help Thea out, and then Oliver will _really_ come after you,” she points out gently, yanking the latex gloves off of her hands and tossing them in a bin. Barry exhales, nodding. Right. Don’t panic. “And all things considered, Thea lucked out. Every scan of the aphrodisiac determined it’s harmless.”

“Just incredibly hormone-inducing.” Barry runs a hand over his face, mumbling, “I’m sure that’ll put Oliver’s mind at ease.”

“It’s not an ideal situation,” Caitlin admits. “Considering how much exposure Thea had to it, she’ll be in significant _discomfort_ for a while. But while she burns it out of her system, at least she’s here at STAR Labs, where we can make her comfortable and track her vitals.”

“Okay.” He swallows, nodding.  “Okay, that sounds – good. Right, _good._ So what should we do first? How can we help her? Maybe if we get her a—”

But his brain manages to catch up to his mouth in time, and he presses his lips together before he can actually blurt out the word. _Vibrator_. From a scientific standpoint, it’s a logical means to help Thea in this particularly situation, but it’s still ridiculous to think of. Thank _god_ Oliver isn’t here right now. Barry would rather get shot in the back with another arrow than suggest to Oliver that they get his little sister a _vibrator_ in order to ease her chemically-induced libido. At the very least, Oliver can’t get mad at this somehow being Barry’s fault. He didn’t even know Thea was anywhere near Central City, let alone that she would be intercepting a black market deal. What would a bunch of druggies need with aphrodisiacs, anyway?

(Actually, never mind. He doesn’t want to know.)

Caitlin clears her throat and smooths an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt, trying in vain not to blush. “That – might not be a bad idea,” she says. Barry’s mouth falls open, but Caitlin ignores him, reaching for her purse. “Give her some water and turn off the camera to her room, just in case. I’ll be back!”

“Wait, Caitlin—” he starts, but she’s already walking out of the room, waving a hand over her shoulder. He blows out a breath, glancing toward the door.

Oh, _screw it_.

He taps a few keys to disable to cameras, then grabs a bottled water from the mini-fridge under the desk and heads down the hallway off of the lab toward her room, knocking lightly on the door. “Come in,” she replies, so he does, grinning when he sees her. She _looks_ perfectly normal, at least, maybe aside from the bright flush on coloring her cheeks.

But, with a swallow, he realizes her skin is flushed _all over_. Caitlin had Thea change out of her Speedy costume as soon as Barry had gotten her to the labs, so she’s sitting on the examination table in nothing but a STAR Labs shirt that looks at least two sizes too big for her, falling off of one shoulder and barely brushing the tops of her thighs. She’s sitting cross-legged as she types something out on her phone, and he’s glad that she’s distracted, because he’s able to snap his eyes back up to her face before they’re able to drift too far down.

“Are you texting Oliver?” he asks, grabbing a chair and dragging it closer to her, plopping himself down.

She nods as she takes the water he offers. “I figured if I told him myself then he would overreact _less_.” Grinning, she adds, “So you’re off the hook.”

“Oh, thank god,” he breathes out, slumping against the back of his chair. Thea giggles and takes a swig of her water, and he does _not_ watch the flex of her throat when she does it, nope, not at all. Except, he kind of regrets his choice to redirect his gaze, because his eyes trace over her, taking in the way her skin is flushed, the way her chest is rises and falls a little too quickly, as if she’s out of breath. He winces. “How’re you holding up?” he asks, reaching over to touch her arm, but she stiffens the moment that his fingers brush her skin.

He snaps his hand back, about to apologize, but she quickly says, “It’s not you, I promise. I’m just – really sensitive, and I feel like I’ve been burning up for half an hour.”

“Shit, Thea, I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ignore the way Thea’s eyes keep glancing at his lips. _It’s the aphrodisiac_ , he tells himself. _Keep it together._

“If I could just…” She trails off, eyes glazing over. She’s still staring at him. Still staring at his lips. He feels the urge to squirm under his gaze. “Maybe you could…”

“Maybe I could”—he swallows, hard—“what?”

She groans, all but slamming her water onto the side table. She’s smiling just barely, a playful exasperation touching her expression at the edges, softening the look of pure desire in her eyes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find her attractive. In fact, he finds her pretty damn _beautiful_. But even considering to act upon it in this moment would be wrong.

Right?

“Don’t make me spell it out, Barry Allen,” she says, half-demand, half-plea.

“Thea, w-we really shouldn’t. _I_ shouldn’t,” he sputters. He should pull away, but he can’t quite bring himself to. Thea is holding onto the front of his shirt, but not quite gripping it. He could gently pry her off if he wanted to. “You’re—you know, and that would be like sleeping with you while you were drunk.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Gnawing on her lower lip, she scoots herself closer to the edge of the examination table, closer to _him_. “Barry, we’re friends, right?”

“Of course.”

“And friends help each other out, right?”

He nods like an idiot, gaze dropping to the pulse in her throat. An image flits across his mind – Thea wrapped around him, neck arched, her nails digging into his back as he slides his tongue up her throat – and he feels the blood rush through him, coiling low and tight in his stomach. “Thea,” he croaks. “Caitlin is getting you a—maybe you can do it – yourself?”

She almost cringes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she looks embarrassed. “I already tried. While you were running tests.”

 _Oh, lord._ If Oliver could somehow see the things his brain is imagining right now, he’d be a dead man.

He glances at her, taking in her parted lips, her pleading gaze, her trembling body. He can’t imagine what she must feel like right now. And he _wants_ to help her. He does.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. She raises her eyebrows and he actually lets out a laugh. “Okay, okay. Just let me—” He gives her a crooked grin before speeding over to the door to slam it door shut and switch the lock into place, then speeding back to the examination table, laying her down beneath him as he kneels between her legs. She blinks, disoriented at the sudden movement, and then she dissolves into a laugh. Her eyes are sparkling, her shirt sliding further down, baring more of her shoulder. It’s almost ridiculous how pretty she is.

“Sometimes I forget just how fast you are,” she says, cupping a hand over the back of his neck. “That’ll come in handy right now.”

He chuckles, grasps her knees and pushes her legs apart. “Trust me, I plan on taking my time,” he says, one eyebrow arches as he slides further down her body, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. “I might as well savor every second of it now, because I’ll be a goner as soon as your brother makes his way to Central City.”

She giggles, but then he dips his head and her voice dissolves into the sweetest moan, making him grin.

Thea Queen is definitely worth dying for.


	3. Bucky/Wanda + girl reading by the fireplace (photo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I want my sweater back,” he teases, curving his hand around her leg, just above the bend of her knee.
> 
> Her eyelashes flutter. “But I’m not wearing anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** [this photo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5e2b48f9895a23f0fb43ee86c12c8782/tumblr_messaging_oxw5daD76j1uevyxw_500.jpg)  
>  **for:** gomustanggirl16
> 
> I hope you don’t mind me putting this in the royal ‘verse, because I’ve never actually written these two in it yet and I wanted to fix that. Also, more cabin smuttiness.

He knows it makes sense. Yeah, they’re just going to a cabin in the mountains, but this is the _princess_ they’re talking about. Traveling outside of her country is always going to be a bit of a production, especially when she goes without her parents. It’ll just be him and Steve actually staying in the cabin, but they’ll have a small team of royal service agents staying with them at the lodge for the entire week while Princess Natasha and her lady-in-waiting, Wanda, drink hot chocolate and roll around in the snow. Or do whatever the hell else people do when they’re at a mountain resort. Growing up in Brooklyn hadn’t exactly made him a fan of snow, but hell. He’s not about to complain about being hired to follow them on a vacation.

Plus, he’s pretty damn sure he’ll follow Wanda wherever she goes.

He’s technically still one of Natasha’s bodyguards, but, the queen had specifically requested him to be assigned to Wanda whenever she accompanied Natasha. Which is basically all the time. Wanda may be her lady-in-waiting in title, but she and Natasha are practically sisters. They’re almost joined at the hip.

Except for moments like right now, when Steve and Natasha have tucked themselves away from the rest of the world. Bucky’s pretty sure there won’t be a day where the thought of them doesn’t make him smirk. His punk of a best friend hadn’t exactly been a stickler for the rules when they were growing up, but shit. Being a bodyguard and sleeping with his client is pretty damn bold, especially since it’s the princess. And not only are they sleeping together, but they’re fucking _in love_. He can see it. He knows they can, too. Steve is pretty tight-lipped about the details, but Bucky can tell that it’s a thing between them, that they’ve talked about it. He doubts Steve would risk the consequences if it was anything short of love.

 _Love_.

Bucky used to wonder if anyone, no matter how attractive or charming, would be worth jeopardizing his reputation and his job. But when he looks at Wanda, he knows he’d do anything for her, take any risk to be with her. He’s got it bad and he doesn’t care.

Not when she gives him that beautiful smile.

“You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep making that face.”

She says it with a giggle, drawing his eyes to hers to find them twinkling in amusement, and he breathes out a laugh. Okay, so he might’ve stopped to stare as soon as he saw her sitting by the fire in the living room, but really. You can’t blame him. Not when she’s curled up in nothing but a pair of socks and one of his sweaters, which is half-falling off of her shoulder, baring her smooth, perfect skin to him. Her hair is cutely rumpled from earlier, still matted down and a little ruffled, and yeah, he feels a little proud to be the reason why.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, even though he knows she doesn’t really need him to. She quite likes it when she catches him. “You always look better in my clothes.”

She giggles, shrugging a shoulder, making it slide further down her arm. He stifles a groan and she laughs as he crosses the room to her, dropping onto his knees in front of her chair. She touches his jaw, runs the backs of her knuckles over the bit of stubble he’s let grown.

“I think I want my sweater back, though,” he teases, curving his hand around her leg, just above the bend of her knee.

Her eyelashes flutter. “But I’m not wearing anything else,” she says, feigning innocence. This time he does groan, sliding his hand higher up her thigh as his gaze catch the way she bites her lower lip at his touch.

He glances back up at her eyes to find them still twinkling in amusement, and it’s kind of fascinating, really, watching the way that sparkle fades into something heavier, something hungrier, as his hand slides higher up her thigh and under the hem of her sweater. His hand smooths over the curve of her ass bared of panties, then up the curve of her side, until he’s cupping one of her breasts and rolling his thumb over her nipple. Her fingers fumble to not drop her book, but he just yanks it out of her hand and tosses it over his shoulder.

“Steve and Nat have been locked in their room all day,” he starts, sliding his other hand under her (his) sweater, “but they could come down here any moment, couldn’t they?”

Her eyelids are heavy, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she draws in heavy, shaky breaths. _God_ , he loves it when she looks like this.

“Yes, they could,” she breathes out, because she knows this game. It’s _their_ game. Their game of acting upon every little fantasy they have of being watched, of not having to keep their relationship a secret. It’s something they could never consider doing where the public can catch them. But, when they’re tucked away from prying eyes, they can pretend all they want. He can imagine his hand is slipping under a satin gown rather than his cotton sweater. That he’s tucked between her legs under a ballroom table rather than in a private cabin.

“And you love that, don’t you?” Bucky kisses her before she can answer, sucks her lower lip between his. She whimpers, reaching for him, but he pulls back, arching an eyebrow.

“I do,” she agrees, maybe even whimpers.

“They could see you, completely bared,” he continues, inching the sweater up her stomach, pushing it above her breasts. “They could see your legs wrapped around my head as you come undone for me, over and over. I wouldn’t stop, either. I think I’d let them watch.”

“I’d want them to,” she admits, her cheeks flushing a little more.

“Why?” he asks gently, encouragingly. He already knows the answer. He just loves it when she tells him.

“Because I’d want them to see how much I want you. How much you want me,” she adds, voice softer. “I want _everyone_ to see.”

A low groan rips from his throat as he yanks his sweater up and over her head, tossing it aside, and his eyes trace down the sight of her: her skin flushed pink against the dark plaid throw, her chest rising and falling quickly in anticipation, her legs parted, her sex _wet_. He licks his lips.

She’s goddamn _immaculate_.

There’s a soft thud from the second story, just above their head, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. Not from fear, but from excitement.

A door opens, and he winks, ducking down and rolling his tongue over her folds, and her keening moan echoes in the air.

(He hopes the whole resort can hear them from up here.)


	4. Steve/Natasha + holiday donation au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’ll blame the eggnog.
> 
> Well, the eggnog, and the amount of rum Tony deemed appropriate to spike it with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,900  
>  **prompt:** “one is a bell ringer for a charitable organization and the other slips their phone number in the donation bucket along with some money at Christmas” au (I hope this prompt is okay! Feel free to add smut if the occasion calls for it *winks*)”  
>  **for:** xo-stardust720
> 
> If this trope seems vaguely familiar, it’s because it is, and that’s because I wanted to give a smuttier crack at it. Because _duh_. Also, I ended up filling your prompt backwards, if that makes sense. Hope you don’t mind!

She’ll blame the eggnog.

Well, the eggnog, and the amount of rum Tony deemed appropriate to spike it with. She’s willing to bet that he mixed that shit with more than just rum, too, because not even the four back-to-back rounds of shots had hit her this quickly. She’s _drunk_. Coherent (or, as coherent as you can expect, and even then, just barely) but definitely drunk.

Otherwise, she’d be disciplined enough to keep her hands to herself, and she’d definitely be more disciplined enough to not need Tony’s long lost friend or whoever he is to stumble her down one of the many winding hallways of the Stark house. His steps are a little clumsy, and he fumbles to catch her by her hips a couple of times as he leads her up the staircase. He maneuvers them into a guest bedroom in the right wing of the house – her favorite guest bedroom, actually, because it has the best view and the softest sheets and Maria had the door painted red because it’s her signature color – and she giggles, tugging him to the bed. He murmurs a curse as they tumble forward, bracing himself above her on his forearms.

His shoulders are broad, and she smooths her hands up his back, over the material of his dress shirt to press her palms over his shoulder blades, pressing him closer.

 _Fuck_ , he smells good. How does a man smell so fucking _good?_

“That’s the eggnog talking,” he answers, sounding amused. Had she said that out loud? Well, shit.

She’d been thinking some pretty explicit things on their stumble here. She wonders if she’d blurted any of that out, too.

“I don’t usually get like this.” Her voice comes out deceptively steady considering how fuzzy her mind is. Except, she knows she’s not _that_ far gone. Not at all. Not if she can stare up into his eyes and count how many shades of blue are in the flecks, count every one of his ridiculously long eyelashes. Which she kind of wants to do right now.

“I know,” he says, lips quirking into a dangerously _sexy_ kind of smile. “You kept insisting it when you wanted us to leave the party. And funny enough, I think I believe you.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Funny enough?”

He laughs, and the sound of it makes her stomach flip, makes her skin flush. _Oh_. She’ll definitely be blaming the eggnog for how her body is reacting to the sound of his voice. “Well, you did manage to get my glass of eggnog all over the front of your dress. So you’re either drunk or clumsy.” He grins. “Since you seem graceful, I’m going to go with the first one.”

She slips her hands around his torso, runs her hands up his chest to grasp as his collars. “How do you know I’m graceful?”

“Tony mentioned you’re a dancer,” Steve answers indulgently, his eyes sparkling in amusement. But, after a moment, there’s a shift in his gaze, and suddenly she can feel the very weight of it against her skin. “And I’ve been drawn to the way you’ve moved all night.”

She feels her lips part ever so slightly, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach. He’d been drawn, not to her _body_ , nor to the tasteful bits of skin that her dress teases, but to the way that she moved? She knows hadn’t danced at all at night. She hadn’t moved much at all, really, except for flitting from person to person, slowly making conversation with everyone in the room. And yet, he’d been drawn to her. He’d remembered some small, passing fact Tony had given out during their introduction, and he _remembered_ it as he watched her move.

“ _Kiss me_ ,” she rasps, the words coming out in a burst of breath, like she can’t get them out fast enough.

His eyes darken, his desire clear through the haze in his eyes. But there’s a little bit of concern sobering his expression at the edges. “Are you still okay with this?” he asks.

She nods, but he still hesitates, so she tips her head up, pressing a soft, slow, sweet kiss to his lips. She makes this pathetic little sound at the feel of them at the same moment he lets out a low, rumbling groan, pressing her a little harder against the mattress. “If you ask me this tomorrow, I’ll still be okay with it,” she promises.

Because she _is_. She may be drunk, and he’s definitely not sober, either. But she knows that she wants this. She wanted this sober, when Tony was fumbling out half-assed introductions.

She knows he believes her, too, because his expression relaxes entirely, his eyes swirling and storming with hunger. He smirks – he _smirks_ – and practically growls out, “ _good_ ,” and covers her mouth with his, kissing her harder, deeper, rougher, his hands coming into her hair. And she swears that kissing has never felt as wild as it does right now.

He kisses her until her lungs start to burn, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, until she get frustrated and starts ripping him out of it. He doesn’t even _blink_ , his hands sliding down her body and grabbing the hem of her dress and pushing it up her body in one fluid motion. He dips his head down, kissing the curve of her hip, the flat of her stomach, the dip of her breasts, until he’s gotten her dress over her head and off entirely, tossing it aside. She’d gone braless because of the cut of her dress, and she’d worn a scrap of lace that’s considered panties because it matched the stockings she wanted to wear with her dress, and his eyes slide down her body, as if taking in every inch of her bared, flushed skin.

His gaze fixes between her legs, she knows that she must look as wet as she feels. Because she feels like she’s _dripping_.

He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing almost adorably, but just as she’s about to ask what’s wrong, he mutters a broken, “I need to—” and then just dips his head down and closes his mouth around her through the damp lace.

She _moans_ , grasping onto the comforter and twisting it between her fingers as his tongue laps her wet folds. It’s slow at first, almost _leisurely_ , with the kind of pace of a man who wants to savor every second. His forehead is still wrinkled adorably in concentration, and he wraps a hand around one of her ankles, still strapped in her stilettos, and slides it higher, bending her at her knee as his tongue slides inside. She lets out a whimper, her hips rolling up, but he lifts his free arm and lays it over her hips, pinning her to the mattress as he sucks her clit.

Oh, oh, _oh_.

She’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the pure pleasure, or maybe both, but she can’t tell if it takes minutes or seconds to get her to the edge. All she knows is that all of sudden she’s _right there_ when his tongue eases off of her, and she’s barely able to let out a protest when he pulls his arm off of her and slides two fingers into her, curling and curling.

“S-Steve,” she breathes out, and he glances up at her, his expression positively wicked as he pauses entirely. And then he pulls away.

Her eyelashes flutter closed, grasping onto the comforter so tightly she swears she feels the stitching stretch under her grip. She hears him fumble with his belt and his pants, hears him yank the bedside drawer open, fumbling for a condom. Somewhere in the back of her head, she’ll remember to ask him how he knew those would be there.

(Though, if he’s known Tony for so long, she shouldn’t be surprised.)

The bed dips as he climbs over her again, except this time she can feel how hard he is against the inside of her thigh. She blinks her eyes open to find him gazing down at her, his expression rather tender considering how incredibly wild he’d been only moments ago.

“What?” she asks, voice breathy and raspy. _Fuck_ , she already sounds _wrecked_ , and they’ve barely just started.

He grins. “Just glad we met tonight, is all,” he says, guiding himself between her legs. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as he teases himself against her, sliding through her folds once, twice, three times, and then he lines up at her entrance.

She thinks it’s rather a miracle that she can pay attention to anything right now. Even more of a miracle that she answers with a steady, entirely sincere, “Me, too.”

He smiles, dimpled and boyish, and then pushes into her with a slow roll of his hips, filling her up, and she digs her nails into the muscles of his back as her spine arches and her lips part in a moan.

... ...

She wakes up the next morning in that bed, alone and tangled in the sheets, and honestly, her hangover isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be. Especially when she glances at the nightstand to find a bottled water already waiting for her, along with Ibuprofen and a note scrawled in Steve’s handwriting, giving her his phone number and apologizing for leaving so quickly to get to work. She wonders if it is intuition or maybe the fact that he coaxed four orgasms out of her last night, but she believes him, and she finds the gesture rather cute.

Besides, it’s not like she won’t be seeing him again. Tony had said last night that Steve moved back to the city for good.

It takes a few minutes for her to warm up to the idea of actually leaving her bed, but she needs _coffee_ , and she doesn’t really feel like messing with the ridiculously complicated coffee maker that the Starks have in their kitchen. So she takes the Ibuprofen, changes into the leggings and sweater she’d stashed in this room for after the party, and heads outside.

There’s a coffeehouse only a few blocks away, and she feels a wide, ridiculous smile pulling at her lips as she approaches. Because there’s someone set up in front halfway down the street from the coffeehouse with a holiday charity bucket and a bell, smiling as he makes conversation with an elderly couple offering him coffee and a pastry.

 _Steve_.

Somehow she isn’t surprised.

She ducks into the coffeehouse, orders her usual at the register and asks to borrow a pen. She scrawls her number on a napkin, tucking half of her change into it and dropping the rest into the tip jar. She cradles it in her hand as she holds her latte in the other, stepping outside and walking toward for Steve.

He glances her way as she approaches, pausing as he sees her. And that bright, boyish smile brightens his expression, warming her from the inside far more quickly than her drink.

She hands him the napkin, letting it fall open a little in his hands, so that he can see her number written on one of the corners. His eyes are twinkling as he meets her gaze, dropping the change into the bucket, then carefully folding the napkin and tucking into his jacket pocket. “Think this breaks my promise of not taking from the donations?” he teases.

“I’m sure you can convince them to overlook it.” Grinning, she adds, “You’ve got a rather skilled tongue, after all,” and he licks his lips and laughs.


	5. Steve/Natasha + Mall Santa and his elf au + break time smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on, she can tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** “Can you do Romanogers + AU where they work at a "pictures with Santa" booth at the mall  & Steve dresses up as Santa & Nat is an elf or something & on their break, they get into some "adult" activities in the break room, if you catch my drift? ;) Smut + fluff is my jam lol”  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> It feels like this is on crack, but also, it feels strangely in character? I don’t really know how to gauge this, but I still think it’s hilarious and deliciously smutty.

She knows she looks ridiculous. Just as she knows that half the parents here are completely scandalized by the “elf” costume Phil Coulson said she had to squeeze into for the mall photo stand, while the other half are outright _staring_ at her. At least the kids seem perfectly oblivious to how close to inappropriate the cut of her dress approaches. They just have bright, toothy smiles on their faces as they come up to her, practically bouncing on the balls of their feet as they tell her that she’s the prettiest elf they’ve ever seen, then go on to gush about all of the things they’re going to ask “Santa” for when it’s their turn. The genuine excitement in their eyes is enough to forget about her stupid dress, if only for a while.

Steve gives her a quick, comforting wink when he catches her gaze, and she knows that there’s a bit of a smirk behind the fake beard strapped to his face.

He’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on, she can tell. Maybe he wouldn’t be the first person to volunteer to sit in a mall for eight hours so hundreds of kids can jump onto his lap and babble about what they want for Christmas, but he’s always totally adored kids. And if anyone is going to be able to get through all of this with a genuine smile, it’s Steve.

The fact that his girlfriend is dressed in red-striped tights and a green velvet elf dress that shows the dip of her cleavage and barely covers the tops of her thighs probably helps a little. And, okay. She didn’t hate the heated look he gave her in the mall employee break room when she stepped out in her costume. She may have to take back all the shit she said about people who wear slutty costumes on Halloween, because she’ll admit, watching the desire cloud over Steve’s bright blue eyes had made her stomach flutter in a little rush of power. It makes her feel sexy and a little kinky, and yes, maybe she’d never, ever choose to wear this on her own when she knows families will be seeing her. But when she’s alone with Steve?

That’s a different matter entirely.

And, when she glances at Steve and catches his eyes trace down the curve of her hips, she knows he must be thinking the same thing.

His eyes slide up to hers, twinkling, like he knows that she’s caught him. Her lips tug ever so slightly into a smirk, and she takes a small step closer, her thigh pressing against the arm of his chair. She almost jumps when his fingertips touch the back of her leg, and he fingers the hem of her stockings for a moment before letting his hand fall away.

He does this once, twice, three times, in the transition between a few group of siblings, and she feels a warmth coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach.

“Your cheeks are so pretty and pink,” a little girl compliments as she approaches Natasha, and she can practically _hear_ the smirk in Steve’s tone as he answers in his Santa voice, “They are, aren’t they?” Natasha glances at Steve, but he’s turned his face the little girl as he hoists her onto his knee. “Doesn’t the color look pretty with her hair, too?” he asks cheekily.

Natasha bites back a laugh. _Asshole_.

Three hours goes by in a blur of faces and noises, but the line eventually starts to thin out, until they’re finishing pictures with their last family and Phil closes off the velvet rope, setting up the sign that says when Santa will be back from his milk and cookies break.

She and Steve walk into the gingerbread house façade covering the door that leads them into the back hallway, and Steve laughs as she grasps his hand and tugs him forward, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she leads them to the break room. Her skin feels like it’s burning up, and she knows for damn sure that the front of her panties are soaked, and when she drags him toward the supply closet, she all but throws him inside and slams the door shut behind them, clicking the lock into place. Even in the dark room, she can tell his eyes are bright, twinkling in amusement, and she’s not quite sure whether to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she grasps pushes him against a shelf and kisses him, deep and dirty.

“You’re a fucking _tease_ ,” she mutters against his lips, kissing him again, harder, when he tries to respond. _Fuck_ , she’s needed to kiss him for hours.

She fists the velvety material of his costume between her fingers, slips her tongue against his and relishes in the rumble of his chest as he groans against her. His hand grasps her shoulders and he turns them, pushing her against the wall so hard that something falls off of the shelf with the force, but she doesn’t care. She hardly feels a thing.

She’s too distracted by the wet, throbbing heat between her legs, and the hard press of him against her hip through his pants.

“Why does it feel like I’m in trouble?” he asks with a laugh, when he’s finally able to break her kiss to latch onto the column of her neck. His teeth nip at her throat, her pulse, her collarbone, as his hands slide to the side of her dress and tug the zipper of it down.

“You _are_.” She means for it to come out stern, but instead, her breath is shaky and raspy. “Teasing me in front of kids like that? You think that won’t get you into trouble?”

He just laughs, pulling her dress down and off in one quick tug, and she steps out of it, kicking it aside. “Fuck, I wish I could see you properly,” he groans, one hand curving over her thigh, his thumb fingering the top of her stockings. She grasps onto his arms to steady herself as he nudges her thighs further apart with his foot, arches her neck as he presses his face into it again, licking at her pulse. “Not that I haven’t already memorized every fucking stitch on this thing. Haven’t already memorized every crease it makes against your body.”

“Didn’t know you were so kinky,” she teases. “I would’ve put on a slutty costume for you a long time ago.”

He chuckles breathily and shakes his head. “Didn’t know, either.” In the dark, she makes out the dimpled, boyish smile he always gives her. “Guess you in stockings turns me on.”

She laughs, but then he slips his hand into her panties and rubs his fingertips over her, teasing at her entrance, and her laughter dissolves into a moan.

She’s _wet_ and she can feel it in the way his fingers slip easily over her, rubbing tight circles over her clit, massaging the folds of her sex. Her thighs shake as she digs her nails into the muscles of his biceps, trying to keep herself upright. His touches had been quick and feather light, but after three hours of it, she’s wound up tight and about to unravel at the seams.

It would only take a few quick strokes her little bundle of nerves to push her over that edge, but of course he’d rather take his time

 _Of course_.

“Steve,” she huffs, trying to roll her hips down on his hand, but he just pulls his fingers out and wipes them against the inside of her thigh. “We don’t have time.”

“We have fifteen minutes,” he reminds, yanking her panties down her hips and pushing three fingers in this time. She lets out a keening moan, her head falling back against the wall as his thumb finds her clit and starts circling. “And thanks to all of that teasing, it’ll go by in no time,” he adds, no doubt smirking as she trembles and shake under his touch.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” she laughs out, and he’s smiling as he kisses her lips, slipping his tongue against hers. It’s gentle despite the thrust of his fingers, hard and curling and relentless.

When she falls apart, she swears she cries out so loud that they must be able to hear her in the mall, but she doesn’t care. Not at all. Not when his lips are latched around one of her nipples through the lace of her bra, his thumb circling and circling over her clit as her walls flutter around his fingers and her orgasm bursts over her. Her thighs are trembling, and she practically curls forward when he pulls away from her and sinks onto his knees, dipping his head between her legs and licking a stripe up her center. She whimpers, coming her fingers into his hair and tugging at it, not sure whether she wants to tug him away or tug him closer. Not that she minds the way his tongue feels as it rolls over the sensitive folds of her sex.

He hooks her thigh over his shoulder, wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently, and she lets out a soft cry, digging her nails into his scalp.

He pulls a hand off of her, and she hears him fumble with his belt, hears it clatter to the ground. She blinks her eyes open, peering down at him through heavy lids to find that he’s pushed his pants and his boxers halfway down his thighs, one hand stroking over his length, his eyebrows furrowed almost adorably as he groans against her wet heat.

The sight of that alone is almost enough to send her over the edge. But then he flattens his tongue over her clit, moving in quick, tight, unrelenting circles, and she feels another orgasm burst over her, hotter and heavier than the first.

He keeps lapping at her through it, until her body sags against the wall, until she gently pushes him away.

He sits back on his ankles, an arm coming around her waist and guiding her body over his, knowing that she’s just barely keeping herself upright. She straddles his legs and leans her weight against his, feels his length brushing against her sweat-slicked stomach as she drapes her arms around his shoulder and kisses him.

Then she reaches down, feeling on the floor until she finds his pocket, pulling his phone out so she can check the time.

“Two orgasms in four minutes. Guess Santa really can work miracles,” she teases. He laughs, but it’s breathy and strained, and she can tell he’s distracted. So she grins, slides off of his lap and onto her knees, leaning forward to wrap a hand around him. He groans, pulsing against her palm. “Guess that means I’ll give you your present after all.”

He threads his hands into her hair, cradling her head and giving her a look of pure adoration that makes her stomach flutter, and she winks, lowering her head and licking the underside of his length, and his groan echoes in the small space of the closet.

Okay, maybe this job wasn’t so stupid after all.


	6. Bucky/Wanda + “My life is incomplete without you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows he’ll follow Wanda all over New York if it means he gets to see her this giddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** Officer Bucky/Waitress Wanda au (aka: the civilian ‘verse) + "My life is incomplete without you." + being tourists for a day during the holidays in NYC  
>  **for:** steph21108
> 
> This is another ‘verse I’ve been itching to get back into, so thank you for requesting it! Bucky and Wanda are Next Level Adorable in this ‘verse.

She’s adorable. She always is, but especially like _this_ , bundled up in her huge coat with a scarf tucked up around her neck and one of his NYPD beanies pulled over her head. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold air as she chats with the elderly lady working the hot chocolate stand at The Rink at Rockefeller, and, fuck. He had maybe five hours of sleep after a late night at the precinct, and he can’t really feel his fingers through his gloves, but he knows he’ll follow Wanda all over New York if it means he gets to see her this giddy.

Her parents are going on a cruise for their twenty-fifth anniversary, so it’s the first time she and Pietro aren’t going to be in Europe for the holidays. He thought she’d be upset about not going home to see her parents, and she told him that, yes, she’s going to miss them.

But then she gave him this cute, almost shy grin, her cheeks beautifully flushed as she told him that she thinks she’d miss him more if she did leave.

And fuck if he didn’t get a little choked up.

Wanda tips her head as she laughs, her hair falling over her back in curls, and his hand twitches in the urge to run his fingers through it like he had this morning, when she had been curled on top of him and nibbling little kisses against the column of his neck. Maybe if he hadn’t been so distracted with how soft and silky it felt wrapped loosely around his wrist then he might’ve paid more attention to what he was agreeing to, and maybe they could still be tangled in his sheets right about now. Except, as much as he loves being tucked away with Wanda and having her all to himself, he loves _this_ , too: seeing her happy and bubbly, chatting with everyone, charming them, drawing stares and awed whispers wherever they go.

She never sees it for herself, never really understands it when he tells her how magnetic she is, and honestly? It’s kind of the best. It means he gets to tell her all the time, gets to point out every little thing she does, every time someone notices is her or admires her from afar. And every time, she gets this adorably flustered expression on her face. Gets this pink glow to her cheeks and blinks her eyelashes all quickly, and she clutches onto his jacket and burrows herself into his chest, laughing as she tells him to stop embarrassing her.

“Sorry about that,” she says, still sort of laughing as she skips ( _skips_ ) up to him, hot chocolates in hand. “She added extra whipped cream in yours, since I told her you love it.”

He chuckles as he takes the cup she offers, slings his arm around her shoulders and leans in. “I hope you left out the part where I usually eat it off of you.”

She giggles, her eyes sparkling as she does that cute little tilt of her head. It’ll always be amusing to him how easily flustered she gets when someone pays her a simple, innocent compliment, yet she doesn’t even bat an eye when he says something sexual. “I doubt she would be surprised that an officer like yourself would be a little kinky,” she teases.

He smirks. Well, she wouldn’t be wrong.

Wanda leans her head against his shoulder, and they stand in a comfortable silence at the balcony overlooking the rink, taking in all of the bright lights, all of the excited chatter, the children speeding and twirling over the ice. They say that the novelty of New York wears off when you’ve lived there long enough, which, yeah, he can definitely understand that. But he’s always loved this city and he always will. Wanda does, too, which is good, because even though he’d follow her anywhere, he can’t imagine them building a life anywhere else.

“Hey,” Wanda says after a moment, grasping the lapel of his coat, and he peers down at her. “Thanks for taking me out today.” Quirking an eyebrow, she grins and adds, “I know how much you love lazy, all-day sex when we both have the day off.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, too,” he laughs, tapping her nose with a gloved finger. “But I love spending time with you no matter what we’re doing.”

“Me too.” Gnawing on her lower lip, she simply peers up at him for a moment, holding his gaze. He gives her a patient smile, slips his hand under her coat and gives her hip a gentle squeeze, knowing that the look in her eyes means that she wants to say more. “Do you remember when you asked me if I was sad about not going home for the holidays?”

“Yes,” he indulges.

Her eyelashes flutter. “Don’t feel pressured, okay?”

He chuckles a little, squeezing her hip again. “I won’t,” he promises.

She nods because she believes him, then stretches on her toes, nudges her nose against his. He wraps an arm around her. “Is it too much if I tell you that I think of _you_ as my home now?” she asks, voice quiet, barely above a whisper. His heart skips, his chest squeezing. He tightens his hold on her. “Because you _are_.”

He swallows, hard, his throat feeling tight all of a sudden. He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t quite find his voice. But he can tell she’s not worried by it.

“Is that silly?” she asks with a breathy sort of laugh. “I mean, I will always love my first home, and I will always love my family. Nothing can replace them. But when I thought about not being able to see you, even for a little while, I knew I’d feel _incomplete_.” She blinks, her eyes misting over, dotting her eyelashes with tears. “Like my life is incomplete without you.”

He jerks his head in a quick nod, suddenly feeling out of breath. He wants to tell her that he feels the same way. That he’s felt the same way for a while.

But he still can’t find his voice, so instead, he tosses his cup aside, grasps her face with both hands and kisses her hard and heavy and deep. She lets out this cute little whimper as he licks at the seam of her lips, then slips his tongue against hers.

He kisses her until his lungs burn, until his head is spinning, and her eyes flutter open as he tilts his head away.

“I don’t think my life was ever complete until I met you,” he tells her, and he knows for damn sure no amount of twinkling city lights could compare to the bright, beautiful smile that graces her lips.


	7. Steve/Natasha + royal au + “I will always belong to you.” + exchanging gifts in secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can only imagine the things they would write about her if they found out the truth. If they found out the princess is sleeping with her bodyguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** royal au + “I will always belong to you.” + exchanging gifts in secret  
>  **for:** steph21108
> 
> I told myself I would try not to post prompt fills from the same person back-to-back, but also, I hope the fact that it’s the royal au and lots of people also seem to love it as much as I do can make up for that!

“Maybe we can slip away and take a tour of the grounds, once you’ve lost your babysitter.”

Natasha’s grip tightens around the stem of her champagne flute, her courteous smile wavering ever so slightly at the corners, but her suitor doesn’t seem to notice. She can’t imagine why he might. He’s spent the last ten minutes content to ramble on whenever she tried to speak, either oblivious or just dismissive of her attempts of breaking away from him.

See, this is why she hesitates to attend all of these galas. Without the guise of her studies to keep her distracted, she’s gotten invitation after invitation to date. Princes and dukes and sons of politicians latch onto her at these events, vying for her attention, the same way the media latches onto her lack of a dating life. She’s read articles upon articles about how she must be quite bitchy and cold-hearted to turn down every man that comes her way, or that she must get a kick out of stringing them along and having them eat out of the palm of her hand. She doesn’t care for rumors – at _all_ – and she knows that her people don’t believe the ridiculous things that journalists try to stir up. But it’s still a nuisance to have to deal with.

Which is why she can only imagine the things they would write about her if they found out the truth. If they found out the princess is sleeping with her bodyguard.

 _God_ , they would never let her live that down.

“I don’t think my dress is appropriate for a stroll in the gardens when it’s below forty.”

If he hears the sharpness in her tone, he ignores it, letting his gaze drift down the front of her. “It’s incredibly appropriate for me.”

She feels her lip twitch, fighting off a grimace. She knows she should be used to all of the stares she’s drawn over the years, especially ones like _this_ , where she can almost feel the physical press of their gaze on her. But it almost bothers her _more_ now. Steve has never once looked at her like this, like she’s just some object to entertain him.

“Perhaps I think differently,” she replies, taking a step back and almost startling when she bumps into someone.

A hand slides over her elbow to steady her, and it should be ridiculous how easily she recognizes his touch on her skin. _Steve_. She doesn’t even have to look over her shoulder to recognize his scent, to recognize his body pressed against hers. He gives her elbow a gentle squeeze, and that’s all it takes for her nerves to start to ebb. Not because she’d been afraid of her suitor’s advances, but because she’d been annoyed. She would’ve dumped her champagne on him by now if she knew her mother wouldn’t be horrified by the idea.

“Maybe you’d like to give the princess some space.” Steve’s voice is low and almost calm, but she knows better. She can feel how tense he is, can hear the slight waver in his voice in an effort of restraint.

Her suitor clears his throat, attempting nonchalance, but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen ever so slightly in alarm. “Is that what I’d like?” he retorts, one eyebrow raised. Steve’s fingers twitch where he’s still holding onto her elbow, his body going rigid as he inhales slowly, drawing himself to his full height, and her suitor actually flinches back.

“I think _I’d_ like to change out of these deathly shoes,” she interrupts, setting her flute on the tray of a passing waitress before grasping Steve’s wrist and turning on her heels to tug him along. Perhaps if he hadn’t pissed her off, she’d feign some kind of apology to her suitor for rushing off, but she finds that she couldn’t care less.

Her brother is standing near the double doors leading into the ballroom, and he raises his eyebrows when he sees her nearing. Tony parts his lips as if to speak, but then he looks over her shoulder at Steve, no doubt taking in his dark, steely expression, and his lip tugs into a wry smile of understanding. He may still tease her on a near daily basis about taking his role as the scandalous royal in the family when he’d figured out about her and Steve, but he’s still her _brother_. There was never a doubt in her mind that he’d help her keep her secret.

“Did something happen?” he asks, glancing passed her and Steve as if expecting some kind of scene behind them.

“Not at all.” _Nothing worth talking about_ , she means, and Tony nods in understanding. “I’m going to step upstairs to change my shoes.”

“I’ll let Mom and Dad know,” he says with a wink, taking another lazy sip from his glass. She stretches up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, and he whispers into her ear, “Might want to give your boyfriend his present early.”

She almost glares. _God_ , she doesn’t know why she tells him anything.

Steve pulls his wrist from her grasp as they step out of the ballroom, and he won’t quite look at her as she leads him down the winding hallways and up the staircase to her suite. She knows not to take it the wrong way – he’s upset, but he’s not upset with _her_ – but she can’t quite help the slight tightness in her chest. She hates seeing him upset, even more so because they’ve talked about this before. He trusts her and she knows this. That doesn’t change the fact that he has to spend his night watching guy after guy come onto her. Most nights, he can maintain his composure. But the more aggressive they are with their flirting, the more irritated he grows, and she hates that she can’t outright refuse their advances.

Not unless she wants to risk everyone asking questions, trying even harder to pry into her privacy and disrupt the peace she feels whenever she’s alone with Steve.

“Hey,” she says, grasping Steve’s chin and bringing his gaze to meet hers. His body eases at her touch, the frustration in his expression ebbing as he lets out a sharp breath. “I’m fine,” she tells him, because she knows that’s what he’s always going to worry about, and not just because he’s her bodyguard.

“Good.” He slides his hands over her waist, squeezing gently. “You look beautiful.” Lips quirking at the corners, he adds, “And your dress is incredibly appropriate for me.”

She breathes out a laugh “Why does it sound so charming when _you_ say it?”

“Because I love you,” he says simply, easily, drawing her to his chest and pressing his face into the column of her neck. She feels her stomach flutter as his lips brush over her pulse. “As much as I hate watching guys throw themselves at you, what pisses me off most is that they only care for your looks. They don’t respect you as you are.”

She wonders if he can hear how fast her heart is beating. She twins her fingers into his hair, gently pulling his head up to meet her gaze. “That’s what I have _you_ for.”

He hums. “Very true.”

She kisses him once, twice, three times, each time a little longer and a little deeper as she pushes him toward the bed. He breathes out a chuckle as she pushes him onto the mattress. He leans up to keep kissing her but she gently nudges him back by his shoulders, and he props himself up on his elbows, one eyebrow raised. “I think you need a little cheering up,” she tells him, reaching behind her neck to tug at the bow holding the top of her dress together. “So I thought I’d give you one of your Christmas presents early.”

She slowly pulls her dress down, letting it pool on the floor at her ankles, and she feels a warmth burst through her as Steve’s lips part, his eyes darkening as he takes in her sheer lacy chemise.

“I love you,” she tells him, settling herself onto his lap, pressing her palms flat over his dress shirt and tracing down the length of his tie. He swallows lightly, grasping her hips as she pushes him flat onto the bed, her hair falling around them as she dips down to kiss him. “No matter who tries to court me, I will always belong to you.”

“Darling, I’m sure it’s the other way around,” he says, and then he grips her hips and rolls her over him before she can respond, making a whimper fall from her lips.


	8. Steve/Natasha + make-overs + a Christmas party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t go eight hours without seeing your fiancé, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** make-overs + a Christmas party  
>  **for:** marvelousdorito
> 
> I owe you something with the “jealousy” prompt because I got caught up in the first two prompts and then things got really emotional.

It’s strange that none of this feels strange at all.

It should after all that’s happened, all they’ve been through, with each other and against each other and then with each other again. Standing in the penthouse with a tumbler of scotch in hand and happy chatter in the air is something that, up until a few months ago, had been a memory, bittersweet and replaying too often in his head.

“She’s not going to magically appear if you brood harder, you know,” Tony quips as he slides onto the barstool next to Steve, one eyebrow arched, lips tugged in amusement.

Steve chuckles, but before he can respond, Clint drops onto the barstool on his other side with a hard clap to his shoulder. “But nobody looks better brooding than this one over here, am I right?” he asks, sliding his empty glass across the counter as Maria comes around the bar and catches it with her hand. There’s a dry smile on her lips as she shakes her head, but her eyes are bright and twinkling with a kind of relief that Steve thinks they can all relate to. He wonders if they all sort of hold their breaths in moments like this, as if they’re not quite sure how this is actually happening. How they’re all here again, and it’s not the same as before but _better_ , almost. “Nat looks great, by the way,” Clint adds, grinning cheekily at Steve.

Steve groans out a laugh, pushing his glass away. “Is anyone going to tell me why she isn’t here yet?”

“You know how women like to take their time getting all dolled up,” Tony says, then holds his hands up as if in surrender when Maria narrows her eyes ever so slightly. “I’m _joking_ , geez, don’t _look_ at me like that.”

Maria’s smiling as she rolls her eyes, grabs a bottle of Jameson by the neck and points at Steve. “You can’t go eight hours without seeing your fiancé, huh?”

Steve feels himself grin, and he doesn’t really care if he looks like an idiot doing so. He just really likes hearing that word.

 _Fiancé_.

His heart does this little flip just thinking of the night he proposed. It wasn’t even something he planned on doing. Maybe because they both already knew that this was where they were headed, because it’s them, and they always just _know_. The others like to poke fun about how they went from friends to fiancés in the same breath, and, yeah, that’s kind of the truth. They never dated. They never needed to. He remembers when there was still SHIELD, they could go days, sometimes even weeks without seeing each other. But then he’d come back to his apartment to find her sitting on his couch, wearing his sweats, and it was the most natural thing in the world. She’d became his constant. She’d became his home.

So, if you were to ask him where they began, he thinks that maybe that’s what he’d say.

And maybe that’s why it made sense for him to ask her there, in the place where they began, if she’d take his hand, his name, his ring, his _everything_.

It was something they both knew would happen, even though they hadn’t even planned to go back to that apartment. They just happened to be in town, and they had lunch in the same booth at the same 24-hour diner down the block from his old building, where they unwound from missions at odd hours of the night over milkshakes and burgers. It was as if they both felt a pull that day, something drawing them to visit that apartment, just for nostalgia’s sake. So they did. They sat in the frame of one of the windows – the same window that he’d sit in sketch, or she’d sit in to read – and talked for _hours_ , about everything and anything. About what they did when they were apart. About what they lost in the war. About what they gained. About what they still hoped for. They talked long after the sun had set, until it was only a few hours until they would leave for the airport to catch their flight home.

He’d turned to find her staring up at him, a small, _knowing_ smile on her face, and she didn’t even blink in surprise when he whispered, “I’m going to marry you someday.”

She had to have known. She _had_ to have known that that’s what he was going to say, because she just smiled a little wider. There was no quip or playful tease. Not a single flicker of surprise or uncertainty. Just the slightest tilt of her head, this little exhale of breath. And then, in a soft voice he’s certain he’s never heard her use before: “Someday soon, I hope.”

_Someday soon, I hope._

Another proposal had followed, of course – with a ring, and him down on one knee – but _this_ one would be the one he’d remember most. This one was theirs and only theirs.

Arching an eyebrow, Steve retorts with, “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good fiancé if I didn’t want to spend time with her, now would I?”

“Sometimes I forget just how sassy that tongue of yours really is,” a voice says behind him, and Steve sits up a little straighter, smiles a little wider. _Natasha_. He turns to look over his shoulder, then feels his heart almost stop the moment he sees her.

Her hair is red.

Her hair is red _again_.

He knows he’s grinning, because everyone’s laughing at him, but he couldn’t care less. He knows Natasha started letting her hair grow out, and he knows she’s complained about having to maintain the platinum shade of blonde that she’d dyed it to when they’d been separated and in hiding.

But he didn’t know she was going to do _this_. And he’s fairly certain that had been the whole point of not seeing her all day today. It’s kind of a joke between them, how much he loves her hair. How he likes to run his hands through it, tangle his fingers in it, wrap it around his wrist. She still looked as beautiful as ever as a blonde, of course, and hair is just hair. There are few people who can pull off just about any style and Natasha is certainly one of them. But, as stupid as it seemed, he’s missed her red hair. He’s missed the boldness of the color and the way it makes her eyes look greener, the way it makes her skin look more flushed. And he’s missed it because he knows _she_ has, too, even if she never even said the words.

She never needed to.

“Ma’am,” he greets, reaching for her hips, pulling her to stand between his knees. She doesn’t just look happy. She looks downright _giddy_.

“Hi,” she says with a bit of a laugh, leaning in to brush a kiss to his lips. “I decided that you get to have one of your Christmas presents a few days early, since we’re at this fancy party and all.”

“Oh, this is _my_ present, huh?” He squeezes her hips, quirking an eyebrow.

She hums, grasps a chunk of her hair and twirls it around her fingers. “I know how much you’ve missed this little fetish.”

“Such a doting fiancé,” he teases, and she’s laughing as he bats her hand away and tucks his fingers into her hair, tugging her gently forward for a kiss.


	9. Bucky/Wanda + “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’ll never get over the warmth that flutters in her stomach when her daughter calls her _Mama_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” + children  
>  **for:** lilleybelle
> 
> I didn’t think I wanted to give Stephanie a sibling but… I’m warming up to the idea.

She’s certain she’ll never get over the warmth that flutters in her stomach when her daughter calls her _Mama_.

The first time Stephanie had said the word (her very _first_ word, in fact) Wanda had almost missed it. Her mission had been delayed, and so had their flight home, and then debriefing with Nick had gotten carried away. She’d been gone for three days, her longest time yet ever since Stephanie was born, and though she’d known it would be hard, she didn’t expect that it would be so _upsetting._ But she’d go through it all over again if it meant that she’d get to see Stephanie’s entire face light up as soon as she walked through the door, babbling out, “Mama!” with such elation in her voice that it chimed through the air. James had gently teased Wanda after, saying that not even _he_ had brought her to tears so quickly before.

And, as silly as it sounds, Wanda hopes she never gets over that little burst of giddiness in her veins when Stephanie calls for her. Not even now, when her daughter has her lip out in a pout over the video call, asking why she isn’t home yet.

“It’s just a little snowstorm, princess,” Wanda reassures her, feeling her chest squeeze ever so slightly. She _hates_ every time she has to tell Stephanie that she won’t be coming home when they’d expected, or that her Daddy has to work a little longer than he thought. “It’ll clear up in a few hours, and then I’ll be home before you know it. I promise.”

“I know, Mama,” Stephanie answers, and though she obviously sounds disappointed by this, she doesn’t sound upset, either.

Over her head, James gives her a bit of a wry smile. She remembers how many times she had to convince him not to feel so guilty about being gone once he started picking up missions again a few weeks after Stephanie was born. He would only be gone for a few hours at a time, and then maybe a day or two, once Wanda promised it was okay. But when he started taking up longer assignments, leaving for almost a week at a time, it had been an adjustment for both of them. He hadn’t done it often, which, as selfish as it sounded, she’d been happy about. James had been by her side almost every day since her third trimester, and to suddenly have him out of reach and out of contact for so long had been difficult.

But, in their line of work, they can only avoid the field for so long. Not unless they wanted to hang up their suits and depend on their friends to do pick up the fight for them. The world may be at peace – or something akin to it, now that the extraterrestrial threats have quieted for now – but there’s still a lot of work to be done.

“Why don’t you tell Mama what we did today?” James asks, tugging lightly at the end of Stephanie’s braid in that way that always, _always_ makes their daughter laugh.

Stephanie bursts into giggles, her entire face brightening as she starts to tell Wanda about the gingerbread houses they made, about the gifts she helped Daddy pick, and about the new dress Uncle Tony bought her.

(Wanda grins at that. They’re all guilty of spoiling the kids, but Tony is probably the worst of them all.)

She’s in the middle of telling Wanda about the watercolor Christmas cards that Daddy is helping her make when she trails off, letting out a yawn and rubbing one of her eyes with her little hand. James chuckles, and Wanda feels her heart squeeze a little, wishing she could tuck her daughter close to her chest, nuzzle her face into her soft, silky hair and let Stephanie fall asleep in her arms. Stephanie is growing so quickly, and as much as Wanda loves to watch her become her own person, she also loves when she still gets to treat her like her baby.

“Why don’t you let Daddy tuck you into bed?” Wanda asks. Stephanie squirms, starting to protest, but Wanda shushes her gently. “I’ll be home when you wake up, I promise.”

“I miss you, Mama,” Stephanie says.

Wanda’s chest tightens. “I miss you, too, princess. I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” she murmurs sleepily, tugging on James’s sleeve. “Daddy, tell Mama you love her, too.”

Wanda chuckles as James tells her, “I love you,” with a little wink, then pats Stephanie’s shoulder. “Go ahead and brush your teeth and Daddy will be there in a second,” he tells her, and Stephanie nods, sliding off of his lap and out of view from the screen, softly padding out of the room. James turns to Wanda, eyes twinkling. “Okay, now the real fun can start.”

“ _James_ ,” Wanda giggles, shaking her head. “It’s bad enough I’m stuck here on my own. Don’t make it worse by teasing me.”

He laughs because he knows that she’s joking. “The one being a tease here is _you_ , doll. You don’t get to call me looking all gorgeous like that and not expect me to want you all to myself.” He gives her a grin. “Better sleep up on the flight home, darling, because you’ll need the energy.”

“Stop,” she says with another giggle. “I realize you can be quite greedy, but you still have to share my time with our daughter.” James groans playfully, and Wanda shakes her head.

“At least there’s only one of her,” she says, and something bright flashes in James’s eyes, his smile softening ever so slightly, and Wanda feels her pulse skip as she realizes why. He may not be close enough for her to read his thoughts, but she knows what’s going through that head of his. She recognizes that bright spark of excitement in his eyes, of _possibility_.

“Two of her wouldn’t be so bad,” he says, his tone light, teasing, but weighted with the real meaning of his words. With the actual conversation that they’re having.

“It wouldn’t be _two of her_. Our children wouldn’t be carbon copies of each other,” she says, and she swears her heart stutters at that word. _Children_. James chuckles just barely, still holding her gaze. She can practically feel the touch of his stare through the video call. “Stephanie wouldn’t mind sharing her parents, would she?”

“No,” James answers, maybe a little too eagerly. She gnaws on her lower lip and he chuckles again. “No, she’s great at sharing. She’d be the best at it.”

 _She’d be the best big sister_.

“Come back soon,” James adds, his tone a little lower, his gaze a little hungrier. “We have a lot to talk about. Well, _after_ we catch up.”

Wanda giggles, wishing now more than ever that she was already home.


	10. Natasha, Wanda, & Sharon + an Avengers’ party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you pregnant?” she whispers, as if someone might be listening on the other side of the door.
> 
> (Actually, with how nosy their friends are, that could very well be true.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** Steve/Natasha + Bucky/Wanda + Sam/Sharon + Avengers’ party + someone got engaged + someone’s expecting a baby + someone had their first kiss  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> Okay, so, it was more girl fluff than couples fluff but still fluff nonetheless!

She didn’t plan on locking herself into one of the guest bathrooms as soon as they’d arrived at the penthouse, but, well. Here she is, staring at her reflection in the huge mirrors, waiting for the minutes to tick by. _Fuck_ , she feels like she’s been in here forever, but the timer on her phone hasn’t even passed a minute yet.

She’s never really had a nervous habit (it was one of the first things the Red Room trained out of her) but she finds herself absently fiddling with the ring on her finger, twirling it, her thumb pressing over the diamond like some kind of lifeline. Like she might actually lose it if she wasn’t touching the thing, which is ridiculous – she’s kept her composure in far more distressing circumstances – but it’s _comforting_ and that’s all she really cares for right now. She blames Steve. Ever since he’d slipped the thing on her finger, he always seems to be touching it, twirling the band, or nudging the diamond, or bringing her hand up to kiss it. She teases him about it, too, saying that she’ll constantly need to get it cleaned at this rate.

But honestly? She loves it, and he gives her that boyish, dimpled smile of his like he knows this. He probably does.

He always just _knows_.

She actually flinches in surprise when there’s a knock on the door, so distracted in her own head that she hadn’t thought to pay attention.

“Natasha?” Wanda asks. “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replies, just barely above a whisper, but she knows the girl can hear her. She doesn’t bother moving to get the door, either, because sure enough, the lock clicks open a moment later. Wanda slips inside, shutting the door behind her. Natasha manages a smile. “You look beautiful.”

And she does. She looks like she’s practically glowing, in fact. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, even with the concern tugging at the corners of her expression. She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater dress and burgundy socks pulled over her knees, and Natasha would bet that the reason she and Bucky were a few minutes late was because he absolutely _cannot_ keep his hands off of her whenever she wears socks like this. Natasha can relate. She has a pair of stilettos – sleek and strappy and black, with thin, sky-high heels – that drive Steve crazy. She can’t recall a time when she put them on and he waited until they made it all the way back home before coaxing an orgasm out of the both of them. She’d thought about wearing them tonight (it’s been a while since they’ve had sex at Tony and Pepper’s place) but decided against it. That’s probably what got them into this to begin with.

“Thank you.” Wanda furrows her eyebrows a little. “Is everything alright? Pepper said you’ve been in here for a bit.”

“Oh, Pepper sent you, did she?” Natasha asks with a bit of a laugh. “You mean it wasn’t Steve?”

“Well,” Wanda says, her lips tugging at the corners, “he noticed first. I volunteered to look for you before he could go into a panic. You know how he gets.” Natasha grins at this. Ever the worrier, that one. “Pepper said you’d come this way a few minutes ago, and Steve told me that you felt unwell earlier this week. Is everything alright? I could go get—”

The girl trails off, something catching her eye, and Natasha can’t help but breathe out a laugh. She knows exactly what has Wanda parting her lips in surprise.

“You’re—” Wanda blinks rapidly, reaching for the three pregnancy tests sitting on the counter, but stopping herself, grasping onto Natasha’s hand instead, threading their fingers together and giving a squeeze. “Are you pregnant?” she whispers, as if someone might be listening on the other side of the door.

(Actually, with how nosy their friends are, that could very well be true.)

Wanda leans in, and Natasha starts to answer that she hasn’t even checked yet. But something distracts her. “Wanda, what’s that around your neck?”

The girl blinks, furrows her eyebrows a little more, clearly not expecting the question. But Natasha doesn’t wait for an answer, taking the thin, beaded chain poking out from under the scoop of her sweater and tugging it upward. A set of slim, metal tags clatters as it appears from underneath the fabric. Military tags.

And, strung on the same chain, a ring.

An _engagement ring_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Natasha breathes out, feeling her lips tug into a grin. Wanda blushes, her smile small and a little embarrassed, but entirely elated. “He proposed?”

Wanda gnaws on her lower lip as she nods, reaching up to grasp the ring and the dog tags in her hands. “It was this morning. I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to do it in person with Sharon, before we said anything to the others, and then he—well, then we ran late—”

“Because he clearly wasn’t _done_ proposing—”

“—and when we got here you’d already locked yourself up here, so.” She shrugs her shoulders all cutely, squeezes the hand still twined with Natasha’s. “Surprise?”

“Don’t worry,” someone chimes in, and they both look toward the bathroom door to find Sharon grinning at them, arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe. Her eyes are twinkling in mischief and amusement and excitement all at once. “I promise I’ll forgive you for waiting so long to tell us. But for right now I’m super pissed at the both of you.”

She’s smiling too widely to mean that, though, and Wanda bursts into a giggle, reaching for her. Sharon leans off of the doorframe and walks over to her, letting the girl take her hand and twine their fingers together, too. Then Sharon turns her gaze onto Natasha, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re not off the hook, either. When, exactly, were you planning to tell us that you being pregnant was even on the table?”

“Probably the same time you planned on telling us when Sam left that little souvenir on your neck,” Natasha retorts with a wide smile of her own. Sharon just grins and tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing several marks sucked along the curve of her neck. Sam is evidently a _biter_. “Considering your professions, Carter, you’re not very subtle at all.”

“I wasn’t going for subtle. No one bothered to ask yet.” Smirking, she adds, “And don’t dodge the matter at hand, Romanoff. Are we going to take a look at these tests or not?”

Natasha actually hesitates, but Wanda gives her hand another squeeze before she can even begin to feel nervous again. “No matter what they say, you’re going to be okay,” Wanda promises, and over her shoulder, Sharon nods without hesitation.

Natasha nods, reaching for a test and flipping it over, and she swears her heart _stops_.


	11. Barry/Kara + “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Considering how much of a klutz the both of them are, he doesn’t know where Stella gets her grace. Maybe that part was just pure luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”  
>  **for:** luucypevensie
> 
> These two always warm my heart!

The house smells like gingerbread as soon as he’s stepped through the door, and he takes a deep breath, a smile tugging at his lips as he hears his two girls giggling from inside the kitchen. He didn’t think something as simple as coming home could make him feel so happy, but whatever. He just really loves his life, okay?

He shrugs out of his coat, sets aside on the dining room table as he heads for the kitchen, and he swears he’ll never, ever get over the way his little girl’s face _lights up_ as soon as she sees him. “Daddy!” she squeals, hopping off of the kitchen island and onto her feet and running right at him. It used to freak them out at first, just how agile she is. Not that it actually surprised them, but still. She’s this tiny little thing and he remembers then she was even tinier, swaddled in a blanket in his arms when they took her home from the hospital for the first time, and it’s easy to forget that she’s, you know. Not totally human. With him being a meta-human and Kara being an alien, Stella was bound to inherit a few of their little quirks.

Though, considering how much of a klutz the both of them are, he doesn’t know where Stella gets her grace. Maybe that part was just pure luck.

“Stella!” he laughs, opening his arms the moment she jumps into them, and he hugs her to his chest, giving her a squeeze. She’s got a little flour dusted on one cheek and a smudge of frosting on the other, and of course it just looks plain _adorable_ on her.

“We baked today!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up.

“I can see that,” Barry says, looking past her and catching Kara’s gaze as she laughs and shrugs her shoulders all cutely, setting her frosting bag down and licking some off of her fingers. There are literally a _dozen_ gingerbread houses sitting on the kitchen island, and two trays of cinnamon rolls lined up on the table, and three plates of cookies on the counter. Kara had told him that they would be baking today, and yeah, this is their first time hosting everyone for Christmas dinner, but still. He wasn’t expecting to walk into a little bakery.

Well, no. Considering how much Kara loves to bake and how much Stella loves to decorate, he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Aren’t Clark and Lois going to be here soon?” Barry asks, glancing at the kitchen clock.

Kara’s eyes widen, making Barry chuckle as she sort of flails her arms and laughs, “Oh, shoot! We lost track of time!” Stella just giggles like her Mommy is so silly, then wriggles herself out of Barry’s arms, landing on her feet. “Can you wash your face for me, please? And change into the sweater Uncle Clark and Auntie Lois gave you? I laid it out on your bed.”

“Yes, Mommy!” Stella replies, and then she’s off again, bounding up the staircase. Her speed hasn’t quite kicked in yet, but she gets quicker every day.

“Argh, this place is a _disaster_ ,” Kara says with a wide smile and a shake of her head, spinning around to take in the extensive mess that they’ve made. At least Kara thought to try and contain it as they went along, stacking all of the trays and mixing bowls in the sink and letting them soak in water and dish soap as they decorated. She turns back to the kitchen island to start gathering up the dishes of candy she laid out for their gingerbread houses, but Barry catches her by her waist, spins her back around to face him as he tugs her to his chest. She blinks those ridiculously long eyelashes up at him, surprised for a moment, and then a bright smile graces her lips. “Hi,” she says, then laughs. “I can’t believe I forgot to say that!”

“I know how you can make it up to me,” he says, leaning in and ghosting his lips over hers. Her eyes are sparkling.

“A kiss?”

“Well, I was going to say a cookie, but I guess that still works,” he teases, and she’s giggling, playfully trying to lean away as he presses a kiss to her lips. She hums, melting into his touch, parting her lips for him when he licks at the seam of them. She tastes like cinnamon and vanilla frosting and he licks it off of her tongue, kissing her a little deeper.

After a moment, she pulls away and smiles at him, her cheeks a little flushed and her lips wet and nipped pink, and, _shit_. He kind of wants to cancel with Clark and Lois, or maybe even have them take Stella out for a little while, so he can have his beautiful wife all to himself.

He knows she can see the desire in his eyes, too, because she glances at his lips, a fleeting moment of hesitation in her eyes. And then she laughs and shakes her head.

“ _No_ , Barry, we can’t! My _cousin_ is coming over,” she reminds, only half-heartedly trying to pull away, but he wraps his arms around her tighter and nuzzles his face into her neck. She twines her fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to his temple as he takes a deep breath. This really isn’t making him want her _less_ , but, whatever. He knows nothing ever will.

“You’re in trouble, you know,” he mumbles into her skin, just above her pulse, and he feels her pause.

“What?” she asks.

He lifts his head, nips at the lobe of her ear just to feel her cling onto him a little tighter, and then he whispers, “You left the receipt for your pregnancy tests in my car.”

She goes completely still at this, and he’s laughing as he pulls away to find her lips parted, twitching as if to fight off a smile. “Barry!” she exclaims, swatting at his shoulder, and he laughs even harder, holding onto her even tighter. “That was supposed to be your Christmas gift! Well, only one of them, and you have others that I’m super excited to give you, but still—you just _ruined_ the surprise!” she cries out, and she’s on the verge of giggling, and maybe even on the verge of crying, which she always does when she’s really, really happy.

“You know, I almost crashed when I found that receipt crumpled up in the cup-holder,” he tells her. “And I _may_ have gotten a speeding ticket trying to get here, which I’ll have to call Joe about. But. I just couldn’t wait to come home to you and Stella.” He kisses the bridge of her nose. “I wanted to sit on it for a bit, but I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh, _that’s_ a shocker,” Kara teases. “Your impatience is how we ended up with Stella, and probably how we ended up with _this_ little one, too,” she adds, sliding a hand between them and over the front of her flat stomach. He covers her hand with his, his thumb brushing over her wedding band. “At this rate, we’ll have quite the gaggle of kids running around here.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, and she bites her lip, peering up at him with that _look_ that always, always gets him into trouble.

 _God_ , he loves his life.


	12. Steve/Natasha + taking a bath together after a cold mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you being so stubborn right now?”
> 
> “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m stubborn all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,500  
>  **prompt:** taking a bath together after a cold mission  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> I totally flaked out on the awkward part of your prompt because of course once my mind got in the gutter it snuffed out all attempts at a plot, but, I think you’ll still like it? I hope?

She’s _freezing_.

She realizes how stupid that must sound considering they’re in a cabin in the mountains in the middle of winter, but, _shit_. It’s one thing to prep for this kind of weather. It’s another thing entirely to get caught in it and trek around in it for the better half of three days.

At least their sweep of the Hydra base hidden out here hadn’t turned up empty. She and Steve found a few test tubes of extraterrestrial chemicals, and two cases of weapons that the Hydra engineers had been trying to integrate with scraps of alien tech salvaged from the Battle of New York. She’s not entirely sure how useful any of this is going to end up being, but at least it’s something. And at least it means the trip out here hadn’t been a waste, or else she would have been pissed off. Well, _more_ pissed off, considering she’s wet and shivering.

 _Fuck,_ she hates the snow.

“Nat, come on,” Steve says, taking her hand and tugging her into the bathroom. He starts peeling her out of the three layers of towels that he’d wrapped her in as soon as they got back, but, as tempting as the steaming bath looks, she starts to shaker her head in protest. Steve presses his lips together. “We’re not starting this again, Nat. Get in the tub.”

His tone is something teasing and commanding at the same time, and a quivering laugh bubbles from her lips. “Fuck you, Rogers,” she breathes out, and his lips quirk because he knows there’s no malice to her words at all. “You may be the captain, but we’re off the clock, and I don’t have to follow your orders.”

He rolls his eyes, just barely fighting off a smirk. “I don’t care. You’ll get sick if you stay like that even longer.”

“ _I don’t care_ ,” she retorts, arching an eyebrow, and he exhales a sharp breath. Whether it’s out of amusement or irritation or both, she’s not quite sure. “I know you hate the cold.”

“I’ll live.”

“I could say the same.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, and she tells herself that the flip of her stomach is a natural reaction when she’s not expecting him to swear. It’s not because he sounds ridiculously sexy when he talks like this, with his voice all gravelly and commanding and low. He’s got a bit of a wry grin on his lips as he shakes his head at her. “Why are you being so stubborn right now?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m stubborn all the time,” she points out, and, despite himself, he breathes out a chuckle and shakes his head. Another shudder ripples down her spine, and it makes him frown, eyebrows creasing together in such genuine concern that it’s enough to melt away some of her resistance. She doesn’t particularly like standing here with her wet bodysuit clinging to her skin, but she knows there’s no way she’s going to be able to relax when she can see that twinge of uneasiness just behind his eyes. She knows how he is with the cold. Physically, she knows his body can take it easily enough. But considering he spent seventy years on the ice, she doubts that’s something his mind is going to forget as easily.

She’s not about to leave him on his own, even if he’ll just be right outside the door.

“If you insist that I get in that bath right now, you might as well join me,” she says, willing herself not to blurt the words out before she can take them back. She’s not nervous. She’s _not._ He blinks at her, his expression unchanging, and she busies herself with shrugging her towels off and reaching for the zipper of her suit.

She’s just barely tugged it down when he says, “Natasha,” with his voice low and tight, as if in restraint. But she doesn’t see discomfort in his eyes at all.

Instead, his gaze is heavy, _hungry._

Something warm and strangely like excitement, and maybe also a little like relief, unfurls in her stomach, and she tugs the zipper lower, relishing in the way his eyes track the motion. She slowly peels herself out of her suit, partly because she likes the way he seems to drink in her every little move, and partly because her fingers are shaking and she’s not entirely certain it’s just because of the cold. She tosses her suit in a pile on the floor at their feet, reaching for her bra strap, but he grasps her wrist gently, and she thinks her heart may stop.

His hand on her makes her flinch in surprise, somehow. Maybe because she isn’t expecting it to feel so _warm_.

His fingertips are calloused as they trace across her skin, reaching behind her, and he catches her gaze as he unclasps her bra, letting it fall away from her chest. She lets out a sharp, shaking exhale, and the ghosts of a grin tug at his lips.

His hands move to touch her, to cup her in his palm, but she leans away, just enough to make him pause. She gives him a small smile. “You can touch, but only if you join me,” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper. He swallows lightly, and she gently nudges his hand away, pushing her panties off of her hips and heading toward the tub. She sits on the edge, swings her legs over and into the water, goose bumps sliding up her skin at the heat of the bath. She shivers, relishing in the warmth for a moment, itching to sink in deeper.

When she glances over her shoulder, Steve is still watching her, his lips still tugged in a slight grin. She arches an eyebrow. “Do you make it a habit to leave a girl hanging?”

He breathes out a chuckle, and she feels her heart actually _skip_ in her chest at the sound of the Velcro as he starts stripping out of his stealth suit. She slides into the tub, sinking into the water, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t know who the hell thought to put a deep soak tub in this hideout, but fuck. She thinks they may be a bit of a genius.

“Room for one more?” Steve asks over her shoulder, and she turns around, her stomach fluttering as she glances down his body. _Fuck_.

She’s so screwed. She’s _so_ screwed.

“Be my guest,” she replies, willing her voice to come out nonchalant as she moves to one side. He climbs in, the water sloshing around, some of it spilling over the edge as he sinks in across from her. His legs brush against hers as he gets settled on the bench, and she bites the inside of her lip, her skin tingling. She knows the heat she feels has nothing to do with the steaming water she’s submerged in, and, glancing under the water, she knows she’s not the only one that feels it. She lifts a hand to her throat, her fingers pressing over her pulse. It’s _thrumming_ , and her lungs feel tight, somehow, like she can’t quite bring herself to take a full breath of air. She and Steve may have always flirted with each other, teased each other.

But _this_ is different. This is them being bared and completely open, completely vulnerable, and it’s incredibly strange how _not_ strange it feels to be with him like this.

“Nat,” he says, and her gaze snaps onto his. He’s smiling. Not a cheeky grin, or a smug smirk, but a small, dimpled, _boyish_ smile. A very _Steve_ kind of smile. “Come here.”

She laughs lightly, managing a teasing retort despite the buzzing haziness of her mind. “Is that an order, Captain?”

His eyes grow a little darker, his gaze growing a little more intense, though his tone is as light as hers as he answers with, “More like a hopeful request.”

She wants to chuckle, but she can’t quite find her voice anymore. She moves across the small distance between them, and, under the water, his hands come around her hips and hoist her onto his lap. She can feel how hard he is against her thigh, but he touches her without an ounce of urgency, his hands sliding slowly up her sides, brushing over the ticklish spot on her ribs. She shivers lightly at this, grasping onto the edge of the tub behind his shoulders for balance, and his hands come up to cup her breasts. He lets out a low, rumbling groan, his thumb circling over her nipples. She bites down on her lower lip, rolls her hips gently. Her eyelids feel heavy, but she holds his gaze, almost afraid to break whatever trance they’re in.

He leans up, bringing his face inches from hers, his breath fanning across her cheek as he whispers, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

She smiles like an idiot, but she doesn’t care. Not one bit. “I promise I won’t bite,” she whispers back, and he’s chuckling as he slants his lips over hers.

(The water is half on the floor and long cooled off by the time they make it out of the tub, but every inch of her feels like it’s on fire, and, okay. Maybe this trip hadn’t been a waste at all.)


	13. Steve/Natasha + Nat stealing Steve’s ugly Christmas sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She usually wears his sweater and nothing else underneath, and she thinks that’s the only thing that can make them feel a little less ridiculous. She knows Steve doesn’t have any complaints about that part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** Christmas Eve party + flirting + future fic + sex with clothes still on or partly on + Nat stealing Steve’s ugly Christmas sweaters  
>  **for:** burnthefirstorder and bloodredmoon87
> 
> I wasn’t sure how far into the future you were expecting, so I just went with the _classic_ post-Civil War, Vague Optimistic Future because that’s my happy place.

It has bells. It has _bells._

She’s married to a child. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

(Well, no. It’s still kind of endearing.)

Tony is having everyone over for Christmas Eve dinner, and they’ll open presents at midnight and then crash in his dozens of guest rooms, and then they’ll probably have a big breakfast spread in the morning, because it’s Tony and he likes to go a little overboard. Like with his Ugly Christmas Sweater theme for their Christmas Eve dinner.

She pokes fun at Steve for having so many of these things that he can only wear one month a year, but, _fuck_. She may wear them as much as he does, because they’re soft and comfortable and warm, and they always smell entirely like him. Plus, she usually wears his sweater and nothing else underneath, and she thinks that’s the only thing that can make them feel a little less ridiculous. She knows Steve doesn’t have any complaints about that part, either, even if he likes to pretend to be annoyed whenever she steals one from his closet. She’s only ever worn them around their apartment, because it’s a sweater with pom-poms, or jingle bells, or _colored twinkling lights_. She’s not about to wear it out in public.

Unless, evidently, Tony Stark decides otherwise.

“You look adorable,” Wanda had giggled when Natasha shrugged out of her coat, revealing the Rudolph sweater she’d taken from Steve. It has bells at his ankles and in his antlers and on his harness, and since it’s Steve’s, it’s also ridiculously big on her. “I especially like the socks.”

Natasha had laughed, glancing down at the cable knit, over-the-knee socks she’d worn instead of leggings. The sweater is huge on her, coming down to the middle of her thighs, so she took a page out of Wanda’s book and wear the thing like some kind of sweater-dress. Hence, the socks. She’s also not wearing _anything_ on underneath, and Steve knows it.

It’s why he hasn’t stopped touching her _all fucking night_.

It started with a brush of his fingers. Over her bared shoulder when he passes behind her, along the curve of her calf when he’s sitting on the floor near her feet, against the backs of her thighs as he walks behind her toward the dinner table. He got a little bolder when they were seated next to each other, very nearly making her flinch when his hand wraps around her knee under the table, giving it a squeeze. He’d idly massaged along her thigh, tracing nonsensical patterns into her skin, inching higher and higher up her thigh, until his fingertips had grazed the hem of her sweater, and then he’d slid his hand back down to her knee. He did this over and over and _over again_ , through appetizers and the main course and dessert.

She offers to rinse the dishes off and load them in the washer as an excuse to stand up, because unless Steve is going to push the dinnerware aside and spread her out on the table for everyone else to see, he needs to _stop touching her_.

She takes her time practically scrubbing each dish off, until not a spec of food is left, and then she rearranges them in the dishwasher three different times to distract herself. It doesn’t really work (not at all, in fact) because her body is still tingling, still relishing in the ghosts of his touch on her thigh, still pulsing from the fact that he’d touched her like that at the dinner table with their friends just a few feet away. She’s always prided herself on her poker face, but still. She wonders if they noticed how flushed her skin became, wonders if they could see how hard her nipples had gotten under her sweater. She wonders if they’d even care. This wouldn’t be the first time she and Steve would’ve had sex with all of them in the other room.

She’s just closed the dishwasher when Steve strolls in, an easy, almost casual smile on his face, one hand tucked into his pocket.

“How’s it going in here?” he asks, and it sounds entirely innocent. There’s even a slight wrinkle to his forehead, as if he’s genuinely curious as to what’s taking her so long.

 _Fucking asshole_.

She narrows her eyes at him, and he actually _grins_ when she grabs him by his penguin sweater and drags him toward the linens closet down the hallway. Pepper is going to _kill them_ when she finds out about this. But Natasha doesn’t care, not even a little.

She shoves him inside, clicking the lock into place behind her. It’s totally dark other than the slivers of light coming in from the kitchen, and there’s not much room at all, so she’s already sort of pressed against him in all the right places, and something akin to a growl rips from her throat as she cups her hand over the back of his neck and yanks him down for a kiss. He makes this noise from the back of his throat that sounds a little like a groan, his hands coming to her hips and giving them a squeeze as he licks his tongue into her mouth.

He slides his hand up her thigh and under her dress, fingers swiping over her sex with the deftness of knowing that he’d find her bare and _wet_ and wanting.

She digs her nails into the muscles of his biceps, shelves digging into her back as she leans her weight against them, her legs already shaking. He’s barely even touched her and she feels like she’s about to burst. He teases at her entrance, then moves his fingers up, circles her little bundle of nerves once, twice, three times.

Her bells are _chiming_ as she squirms under his touch, and the asshole _laughs_ at it. “You’re a little too loud,” he tells her, sounding entirely amused by this as he dips two fingers into her and curls, finding her sweet spot with a few easy strokes, because that’s how well he knows her. She parts her lips, grinds her hips down on his hand. “They can probably hear us.”

“So do something about it,” she retorts, because she knows what he’s doing: asking permission. Because, even though he knows her body just as well as she does, and knows her every thought without her uttering a word, he’s _Steve_ , and he’ll always ask. Usually it’s endearing, but right now, they don’t have time. Not with everyone just down the hallway.

He pulls his fingers from her too quickly, too abruptly, drawing a pathetic, strangled sort of sound from her throat, but he brushes a kiss to her lips as if in apology. Then he curls his fingers around the hem of her sweater and yanks it up and over her head in a harsh, clanging rush of sound, tossing it onto the floor. “ _Fuck_ , I wish I could see you properly,” he groans as his hands slide down her sides, over her hips, to the tops of her over-the-knee socks. “I wish I could see you in nothing but these damn things, dripping wet between your legs.”

She lets out this desperate little sound as she kisses him again, her hands coming between them and fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

He’s _hard_ when she gets the front of his pants undone and slips a hand inside, fingers curling around his length and stroking up, once, twice, three times. He groans, lets his forehead fall forward on her shoulder as he gently rolls his hips into her palm.

“Is that what you thought about? Why you’re already so hard?” She runs her thumb over the tip of him, nipping at his ear. “Were you thinking of me?”

It’s a question she knows she’d never, ever had to ask, but he answers honestly all the same. “ _Yes_ ,” he groans, his grip deliciously tight. She wants him to elaborate – _needs_ him to – and of course he does without her having to utter a word. “I wanted to spread you out on that table. Wanted to push your sweater up and suck on you until you screamed.” She gnaws on her lower lip, giving him a squeeze, and his hand grasps at her wrist to get her to stop. They’re both already teetering so close to that edge. “I don’t think I can last,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. _Neither can I_ , she means, and he groans as if in response, pulling her hand off of him and hooking an arm around her waist. He hoists her up and leans them against the linen shelves as he presses at her entrance—

And then a voice – muffled through the door, but very clearly Tony – carries down the hallway. “…but seriously, _every time?_ This is _our_ house!”

Pepper laughs, her voice sounding closer. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either, but what can you do?”

“ _What can you do?_ ” Tony repeats. “Just because they’re newlyweds doesn’t mean they can get away with having sex in every room in our house! I still miss that glass coffee table.”

“You wouldn’t even have used it after that, so what does it matter?”

“It _matters_ , Pep,” Tony grumbles, and Natasha’s heart skips. They’re standing just outside the door.

Her eyes snap up to Steve’s, finding his gaze through the dark, and honestly, she’s not at all surprised to find him smiling, his eyes sparkling in that amused cockiness that she hates ( _loves_ ) so much. He teases the tip of him over her little bundle of nerves, and she bites down on her lower lip, _hard_ , muffling a whimper as he leans forward and nips at her jaw.

“If we’re loud enough, do you think they’ll go away?” he whispers into her ear, and, before she can even think of a response, he rolls his hips forward and pushes into her, her lips part open as he bottoms out.

She’s pretty sure she moaned, but she doesn’t care. Not even a little.


	14. Steve/Natasha + “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows he’s coming home, of course. She just doesn’t know he’s coming home _today_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” + Steve is a soldier coming home to a worried and waiting Nat  
>  **for:** emily-is-fangirling
> 
> I watched too many soldiers-coming-home videos on YouTube for this prompt so curse you for making me cry so hard but also thank you.

She knows he’s coming home, of course. She just doesn’t know he’s coming home _today_.

She’s going to hate it, too. She _always_ says she hates it when he makes her all emotional and choked up, but, _shit_. How could he not surprise her?

He’s been away for a year and a half now and it’s tough. He’s not going to lie. He knows he’d never go back and make another choice, because serving his country is what he’s always wanted to do. Not even when his mom _cried_ and said that she didn’t want to lose her baby boy the same way she lost her husband did Steve change his mind. He thought about it a little harder, but his choice had been the same. It sucked, and he knows she’ll never, ever hold it against him, but he broke her heart a little bit when he left. She tells him that she’s proud of him every single time they talk, and he believes it, but she’s a _mom_. She’s always going to want her baby home safe and sound before anything else. He loves her for it, too.

He loves her even more for moving closer Nat and James. She’s lived in the same apartment in Brooklyn forever, but the moment he told her about Natasha, and about Natasha being _pregnant_ , his mom packed up and moved just to be five minutes away, just in case.

“Do you think she’ll cry?”

Steve chuckles over the phone even as his chest does this stupid little squeeze, thinking about Natasha and those big, bright eyes of hers welling with tears. She’ll probably bite her lip the way she always does when she doesn’t want to cry. He thinks that she’ll probably hold her breath a little when she sees him for the first time in over a year and—

“Yeah, I think she will,” Steve tells his mom over the line. He must be grinning like an idiot when he says it, because beside him, Bucky chuckles softly and shakes his head.

Natasha teaches at this ridiculously prestigious ballet school in the city, and he knows she’ll be in the middle of rehearsal when the bus drops them off, because his mom told him. He thought about waiting for them to be done before he dropped by, but he knows he can’t be in the same city as Natasha and not want to see her right away. He _can’t._ Their show is just two weeks away and rehearsals are probably crucial right about now and he gets it. But also, he misses his wife and doesn’t think anyone will mind him snatching her away a little early.

Plus, his took James out for the day, and Steve isn’t about to waste a second of time alone to catch up with his wife.

Bucky is grinning at him after he hangs up with his mom, and, in the row in front, Sam and Clint turn in their seats. “Stop holding out on us, man,” Sam says, and Steve laughs, pulls up the picture his mom sent of James and turns his screen for them to see.

“ _God_ , he’s like a carbon copy of you,” Bucky says in this low, awed sort of tone. “Look at that nose.”

“Look at those _eyes_ ,” Clint laughs as Sam takes Steve’s phone and zooms in on the photo. “I didn’t think your perfect shade of blue could be replicated.”

“I always knew you loved my eyes, man,” Steve quips.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, swiping to the next one, his smile softening when he sees it. “That’s a nice one,” he says, handing the phone back to Steve, and Steve can’t help the way his stomach flips when he sees the photo. It’s the one his mom sent him just the other day, of Natasha and James at the park when they went on a picnic. Natasha’s wearing this pale yellow sundress that he knows she loves more than she’ll admit, laying on the grass with James sitting on her stomach, his smile bright and his tiny hands filled with flowers.

It’s crazy to think about how different his life would be without these two in it. How different it would be if he’d never kissed her at that diner at two in the morning.

She always talks about how _cheesy_ their story is, but he loves it. He does. They met on their very first day of high school and it changed just about everything, slowly but surely. Because he thinks part of him knew, even back then, that Natasha was it. That she was _the one_. And he thinks that she felt that same way, too.

No, he _knows_ that she did. Maybe they never really talked about it, and maybe that’s because they were too terrified about losing their friendship to take the risk, but it was always there. He felt it in the way his chest felt tight and warm whenever she crowded his space, whenever she blinked those ridiculously long eyelashes at him and quirked her lips and told the most horrendous joke he’d ever heard, just to get him to laugh. He felt it in the way she always got this _look_ in her eyes when she asked how his dates went, how her eyes got a little bit brighter whenever she caught his gaze across the room. How she always looked a little heartbroken whenever he talked about enlisting and training and serving his country.

And he wasn’t about to leave without at least _trying_. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss her, wanted to know how soft her lips felt, if she’d make some little sound, if she’d kiss him back. And she _did_. He still remembers the taste of her strawberry milkshake on her tongue, and the little whimper she let out when he nipped her lip.

She let out that same whimper when he kissed her after he’d proposed, and again when he’d lifted her in her big, white dress and pressed their lips together.

 _Fuck_ , he can’t wait to see her.

... ...

He picks up the bouquet that his mom called in for him at the florist down the street from the school, and yeah, he knows he’s drawing stares with his uniform and his military duffle slung over his shoulder. It’s something he’d never really gotten used to, and he still doesn’t know what to say when people get all flustered around him or thank him all the time. It’s always flattering and he appreciates it, of course, but it’s not like he enlisted for the recognition. He could’ve changed into his civvies on the bus, but it’s really not that big of a deal.

And, honestly? He doesn’t even _care_ about what he’s wearing when he walks into that studio. He doesn’t care about anything that isn’t her.

She hasn’t seen him just yet, which is kind of ridiculous considering they’re in a room full of mirrors, but she’s just so lost in her routine and he fucking _loves_ to just watch her like this. She’s just in leggings and his loose shirt that falls off of her shoulder, and her hair is already falling out of her bun, but she’s still the most gorgeous person he’s ever laid eyes on.

There are a group of little girls that he knows are in the show (Natasha’s been training them herself and showed him pictures and everything, because she’s so proud of them) and a few instructors he knows he probably met before he left, and they all sort of gasp when Phil Coulson steps aside so he can walk into the room. It draws Natasha’s attention, of course, as she comes out of a twirl, catching his gaze in the reflection, and her entire body just _stops_. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are parted and he swears she’s holding her breath.

He smiles at her, taking a step closer, and it seems to snap her out of her surprise, because then she’s turning on the point of her toes and _running_ at him. He’s breathless and laughing as he catches her, only barely remembering not to completely crush the bouquet he’s still holding onto.

She’s got her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and her head buried into his neck, wetting his skin with tears. He’d tease her about it, because it’s their thing, and also because he loves being the only person she’s ever cried for. (Well, other than James.) Except he’s totally choked up, too, and his eyes are blurry and stinging like crazy.

He’s missed her so much. He’s missed her _so much_.

He’s missed her scent, missed her warmth, her voice. He’s missed the way they fit together so perfectly. He’s missed waking up to her and falling asleep next to her and watching her with James, listening to their laughs together, catching the look of total contentment that passes over her face when Steve’s holding onto the both of them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes as she leans away, just far enough for her to see her face. Her eyes are wet and her eyelashes are dotted with tears, and she wipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, letting out a breathy, shaky sort of laugh, like she feels silly right now. Then she catches his gaze, and her entire expressions brightens even more, if possible. “Hi.”

His heart actually _skips_.

“Ma’am.” His voice comes out chokes and shitty, but he doesn’t care, not even a little. She looks so _happy_ , even as she makes this little face and reaches around her, pulling the bouquet from his hand. Okay, so maybe it’s a little matted on one side now because he’d hugged her so tight, but whatever.

“You brought _me_ flowers for _your_ homecoming?” she asks, totally grinning. He shrugs a shoulder and she lets out a laugh. “You’re such a dork.”

“Well, I’m your dork, and you’re stuck with me,” he says, and he’d meant it to be teasing (well, mostly teasing). But then Natasha’s eyes get soft and misty all over again, and she swallows lightly, bunching the material of his military uniform between her fingers.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he echoes, and she kisses him again, letting out that perfect little whimper of hers when he nips at her lower lip. And with that one little sound, everything feels like it falls back into place.


	15. Bucky/Wanda + single parent au + shopping for his daughter's teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The malls are ridiculous, and it’s a week night, so he doesn’t have a lot of time to spend just browsing. The fact that she has no idea what she wants to get Miss Wanda isn’t helping things, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,500  
>  **prompt:** single parent au + Bucky and his daughter shop for a Christmas gift for her Kindergarten teacher, Miss Wanda  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> How does a five-year-old sound like? Because I have no clue.

“What do you think she likes?”

Bucky chuckles, hikes Stella a little higher up his arm. She’s tiny, but she’s also five years old and not exactly easy to carry around anymore. He’d rather do this than have her get bumped into, though, because then he’d have to have words with anyone trying to shove past his little girl.

“I think Miss Wanda likes a lot of things,” he says with a chuckle.

She narrows her eyes at him the tiniest bit, and, _fuck_ , it’s kind of terrifying that she’s picked up that habit from Natasha. “Yeah, but _what?_ ”

He almost laughs. Yeah, if he knew the answer to that question, he wouldn’t be trekking through the mall a week before Christmas to get his daughter’s teacher a gift before the last day of school tomorrow. But, then again, there’d be no way that Stella would let him do it on his own. She’d want to pick it out herself, which is really fucking cute and he loves that she gets the whole idea of getting something from the heart and all. But still. The malls are ridiculous, and it’s a week night, so he doesn’t have a lot of time to spend just browsing stores considering he’s still got to get her home and fed and into bed so she can be up for school. The fact that she has no idea what she wants to get Miss Wanda isn’t helping things, either.

“She wears a lot of bracelets, right?” Steve asks in front of them, looking over his shoulder so he can look at Stella. “Maybe you can pick out a few for her.”

Stella furrows her little eyebrows. “But what if she doesn’t like them?”

“Of course she’ll like them, because you would’ve picked them out and you have _excellent_ taste,” Natasha says, reaching over to tap her finger on Stella’s nose, which never, ever fails to make the girl burst into giggles.

“You can get her a nice scarf, too,” Steve chimes in. “Since it’s been so cold. She’d like that.”

“But the scarf would cover up all her pretty necklaces,” Stella says.

“What about a sweater?” Natasha suggests, and Bucky sends her a glare over Stella’s head, which Natasha just laughs at. A _sweater?_ What the hell kind of kid gets their teacher a sweater? Yeah, Stella’s pretty close to Miss Wanda and the girl fucking _adores_ her teacher, but still. He thought maybe they’d get her a stuffed animal and some chocolates.

And, okay. Maybe he’s overthinking this whole thing a little because he’s kind of paranoid about tipping things off. He doesn’t know if it’s against some kind of policy or whatever for teachers to date a parent of their student, but _fuck_. He doesn’t want to get Wanda in trouble. It’s a small Catholic school, too, which means that there’s no way the word’s _not_ going to get around the moment some busy-body parent finds out. And he doesn’t want it affecting Stella, too. Not that he thinks some kids would take it out on her or anything. They’re five and don’t really care about adults dating. But their _parents_ might, and they spin it totally out of proportion, because they’ll somehow make it seem like it’s their business or whatever.

He just wants to be careful. In a few more months when Stella’s in first grade and not _actually_ Wanda’s student anymore, it won’t be as big a deal. Hopefully.

Because, _fuck_. He just really wants to be able to take Wanda on a date or kiss her at drop-off or hold her _hand_ without having to wonder if it’ll become this big thing. He likes her. Actually, it feels a hell of a lot more to him than just _like_ , but they’ve been seeing each other in secret for maybe four months and he doesn’t know if it’s weird for it to all to feel so intense so quickly. He hasn’t really even _looked_ at a woman in that kind of way ever since Stella came around. He’d been that guy in high school and college that never hurt for the company and that was fine, but obviously it’s different now with Stella and he’s got no complaints. It’s not even a sacrifice. Stella’s his number one girl and that’s the end of that.

But. _Wanda_.

He didn’t expect to walk into that parent-teacher meeting and get his breath taken away. She was this bright, beautiful little thing with her adornment of necklaces and bracelets and this enchanting look in her eyes, and the moment she smiled at him, he knew he was a goner.

(The fact that his daughter had literally done nothing but _praise_ the woman all month had probably helped.)

He didn’t expect to want to see her all the time, just as he didn’t expect her to say _yes_ two weeks later, when he ran into her at a pub one night and asked her to have a drink with him.

And he _really_ didn’t expect for her to end up coming home with him an hour later. Thank _fuck_ for Stella wanting to have a girl’s night with Nat.

They both decided on waiting out the rest of the school year before telling Stella, though, it sucks to have to hide anything from his little girl. Especially in moments like now, when Stella turns to him with this genuinely upset look on her face and asks, “But what if we get her the wrong size?” Because he could easily say that Wanda isn’t a hard girl to size up, but not without Stella asking why and him having to dodge the question. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal, but he doesn’t like having to lie to Stella, especially not about something like this.

But, before Bucky can even think of a response, Steve suddenly chimes in with, “Hey, Stella, why don’t we look in there?” and then takes her out of Bucky’s arms.

Bucky frowns as his best friend squeezes his way into some clothing store he’s sure they’ve never actually been inside, and Natasha laughs at him and grasps his chin with her fingers, turning his head until he sees—

 _Wanda_.

It’s stupid that his heart actually _stops_ for a second.

She’s in this sweater that’s adorably huge on her, and leggings, and boots that come over her knees that really, really make him think of taking them _off_ of her entirely. She’s already laughing as she walks right for him, too, which means that she probably noticed him while he’d been staring.

He grins, takes her hand and pulls her off to the side, so they’re not standing in the middle of where everyone is trying to walk. She blinks her ridiculously long eyelashes up at him, her cheeks still a little pink from the cold air, and, because he’s pretty sure no one’s paying them any attention, he reaches up and brushes her hair from her face.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says instead of a proper greeting, and she lets out this breathy sort of laugh, takes a half-step closer.

“I would’ve really liked it if you did.” Her lips quirk up at the corners, and she holds his stare for a long moment, giving him that secret smile of hers. Then she blinks again and glances around. “Where’s Stella?” she asks, and, fuck if that one question doesn’t make him smile even more. He really, really can’t wait until he can see the two of them together all the time.

“Shopping for your present,” he answers, and her gaze cuts back to his, her lips parting in a protest, but he laughs as he shakes his head. “Don’t start. She’s really excited about it.”

Wanda blushes a little more, and, _fuck_. He just really wants to brush his lips over her cheeks, feel how soft and warm her skin is under his lips.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” Stepping closer, she stretches up on her toes, bringing their faces closer. “Just like I’m sure I’ll love whatever her father’s giving me.”

He slips his hand under her huge sweater and squeezes her hip. “Maybe even a little bit more?”

“James Barnes,” she says, her voice in a playful, staged whisper, “are you competing with your daughter over my attention?”

“Well, she gets to see you every day, while I don’t,” he says, glancing over her shoulder. No one is even so much as glancing at them, tucked away in their little corner, and it makes him smile a little wider. He wonders if he can get away with kissing her. Wanda giggles a little, gnaws on her lower lip. “Maybe if I got a little bit of you to myself, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Her eyes are sparkling. “Then I guess I’ll have to give you your present a little early,” she says, and then leans up and presses her lips against his.


	16. Steve/Natasha + one night stand in Russia au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doubts that he’d kiss her with such hunger if he had even the slightest hesitation about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** widowed Steve and ballet teacher Nat have one night stand in Russia and cross paths years later  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> I owe you a Part II for your prompt because I didn’t anticipate on going into that much detail. Sorry! But I think I still managed the tone you were looking for? Maybe?

His hands are shaking.

She thought that maybe it had been how cold the cab was on the ride to his hotel, or maybe just the buzz of the three drinks she had. But when he presses her against the wall just inside the door to his room, he slides his hands over her hips and she can feel them shaking ever so slightly.

For one fleeting, terrifying second, she thinks that maybe she’d misread the situation. That she’d misread _him_ , and he’d simply gone along with her inviting him to his hotel room.

Except, his hands are flexing at her hips, gripping her just tight enough for it to feel deliciously forceful, like he’s grasping at some last semblance of patience. His hold doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but something about it feels almost possessive, as if he’s afraid she might slip through his fingers. And then he groans against her lips – low and rumbling and so fucking _sexy_ – and kisses her harder, his tongue pressing against hers, licking off every last drop of the vodka he’d bought her. She doubts that he’d kiss her with such hunger if he had even the slightest hesitation about her. Doubts that his body would be pressing her into the wall, and that his hips would be grinding against hers, if he was having any second thoughts.

But. His fingers are still shaking as he starts pushing her coat off of her shoulders, and now that she’s noticed it, she can’t quite stop thinking about it.

She grasps his face, eases her lips off of his and blinks her eyes open just as he does. His eyebrows still furrowed from kissing her, his gaze dark and hazy with desire, though, when he blinks, she can see the confusion flash behind them. “Is something wrong?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly, and her stomach fucking _flips_ at the sound of it.

“I should be asking you.” She keeps her tone light as she reaches for one of his hands still at her hip, covering it with hers. “You’ve been shaking ever since we left the bar.”

He blinks, surprised by her statement for a long moment, before letting out a breathy laugh, and, _oh_. His smile touches every corner of his face, and there’s that damn flutter in her stomach again.

(She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this tingly. If she’s _ever_ felt this tingly before.)

“You noticed, huh?” He gives her a dimpled smile, eyes twinkling. He doesn’t sound embarrassed at all. He sounds like he might even be teasing her.

It makes her smile just a little, too, even as she tells him, “If you’re having second thoughts, it’s alright.” She’s surprised by how genuine her words are. Yes, she’s attracted to him. Incredibly so. And _yes_ , she wants to fuck him _senseless_ all night, because he absolutely seems like the type to give just as well as he receives. But she wants him to want it, too.

He breathes out another laugh, the sound of it dissolving what little anxiousness had started tugging at her chest. “I’m not,” he promises, curling his fingers around hers and bringing her hand up to his lips, holding her gaze as he brushes a kiss to the tops of her knuckles. He’s a perfect stranger, a man on vacation whom she happened to meet at a bar. This small, intimate gesture shouldn’t feel so _comfortable_ , but it does, and she’s not quite sure how she feels about it. “I’m shaking because I’m nervous,” he admits, grinning a little wider. “And I’m nervous, not because I’m having doubts, but because I’m not entirely sure how I got such a bright, beautiful woman to come back to my room, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

She shouldn’t find him so charming. She _shouldn’t_. He’s a stranger from an entirely different country, and it’s his last night, and she could very well be just one final conquest before he has to fly back home. Theoretically, she has no reason to believe that the story he gave her at the bar – that his wife had passed away earlier this year, and this is his first holiday on his own, and he’d come all the way to Russia to make it hurt a little less – is the truth. They may have talked all night, but she knows almost nothing about him. They met only _hours_ ago.

But, she believes him. She can’t quite explain why, but she does.

“You’re the first woman I’ve—” He stops himself, licks his lips and swallows lightly. His grin turns a little wry. And, after a long pause, he adds, “Not since my wife,” in a soft voice. He doesn’t sound ashamed, not even a little bit embarrassed. He sounds completely open and vulnerable. He almost sounds _hopeful_.

Something soft, and warm, and incredibly tender unfurls in her chest. And she knows without a doubt that she’s never felt anything like this before.

She thinks it should be wrong to want him _more_ , but she does, oh _god_ , she does. She just holds his gaze for a moment, her chest swirling and coiling and tightening, until finally she lets out a burst of breath and grasps him by the lapels of his coat, turning them around and pressing him against the wall and covering his lips with hers. She kisses him hard and hot and heavy, drinking in his every breath, his every moan. Her fingers pull at the buckle of his belt, quickly, almost clumsily getting it undone, tossing it to the floor with a harsh clatter.

He groans as her hands slip past his waistband, dipping inside and curling around his length. He’s _hard_. She nips at his lip, just barely containing her smile as she kisses him harder.

Her strokes her slow at first, sliding all the way down to the base, and then back, her thumb smoothing along the tip of him.

But then she curls her hand, her movements quickening as her palm grows slicker and his length grows harder. His kisses are wet and messy as he groans into her mouth. She can practically feel his body growing tense, his muscles tightening in both pleasure and restraint, trying to hold back. Trying not to lose control.

 _Well, that won’t do_.

She feels his tongue dart out to lick at hers as she pulls away, trying to chase her kiss, and it brings a ridiculous smile to her lips as she sinks onto her knees. His gaze is a palpable weight on her face, his eyes not once leaving hers, not even as she stretches an arm out to shut the door. He’d been so eager to get her inside that he’d forgotten about it entirely.

(Okay, maybe it’d been a little ridiculous to think that he might not have wanted her as much as she thought.)

She tugs his pants down his legs, smooths her palms over his bared, muscular thighs, feeling them quiver and tighten under her touch. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He looks a little bit like a wreck and she’s barely even started.

She wonders if it’s actually possible for her to be this _wet_ already, or if maybe she’s just imagining it.

He cups a hand over her cheek, sweeps the pad of his thumb over the flush of heat gathered under her skin. The tender, heavy look in his eyes should be terrifying. It should snap her back to her senses, because she _knows_ that look, and she knows what it means, and she knows that it’s only ever gotten her into trouble before. She can’t handle that look.

But it doesn’t scare her at all. It makes her feel warm and tingling, makes her stomach flutter and makes her heart skip. It makes her _wet_.

She darts her tongue out, licking along the length of him, quickly at first, and then slower, and slower, dragging her tongue from the base all the way to the tip. Both of his hands tangle into her hair, tugging, not enough to hurt, but enough for it to feel _perfect_. She takes him into her mouth, sucking lightly, swirling, and her eyes flutter closed at the taste of him, blood thrumming through her veins as he lets out a loud, long moan. She digs her nails into the muscles of his thighs, then trails them up to his hips as he starts rolling them in rhythm with her mouth. He’s panting heavily, groaning her name. She can tell that he’s close, and it’s thrilling to know that it’s because of _her_. That _she_ was able to bring him to the edge so quickly.

It’s especially thrilling to feel his hands tighten in her hair, tangling it as he unravels at the seams with a long, low moan. He tries to pull away before he comes, but she digs her nails into his thighs again, holding him in place. She takes in every last drop, until his body sags against the wall with a groan, his grip loosening in her hair.

She pulls off of him, looks up from under her eyelashes and catches his gaze as she licks her lips. Her lipstick is smudges over his mouth, over his length, and it makes her smile.

“Still nervous?” she asks with a tilt of her head, and he breathes out a laugh as he shakes his head.

“Not even a little.” Quirking his lips, he slides a hand down to grasp her chin with his fingers. “Now, can you come up here so I can kiss you, Natasha?”

It’s the first time he’s used her name, and she knows she loves it more than she should, but she doesn’t care.


	17. Bucky/Wanda + tree shopping + kissing and outdoor sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shouldn’t find it so thrilling to know this. To know that someone, _anyone_ , can just wander into the thicker part of the woods and come across them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** tree shopping + kissing and outdoor sex  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm
> 
> I’m sorry for this trash, babe, I tried to stop myself.

“ _James_ ,” she whispers, her voice shaking ever so slightly. Whether in nervousness or excitement or both, she doesn’t know. She just knows that James is kissing her, hard and hungry and heavy, with her back pressed against the trunk of a tree and his hand sliding under her skirt.

Their friends are here, somewhere, with about a dozen other families that had come all the way from the city to pick out their Christmas tree from the tree farm. She shouldn’t find it so thrilling to know this. To know that someone, _anyone_ , can just wander into the thicker part of the woods and come across them. But it _is_ , and she knows that’s why she grasps onto the scarf she’d wrapped around his neck when they left, dragging him closer rather than tugging him away. That’s why she’s whimpering into his mouth when he nips at her lip, sucking it between his and slipping his tongue inside. He hooks a finger under the hem of her stockings, giving it a small tug, and it makes her giggle into their kiss. James has a thing for her in stockings. Well, he has a thing for her legs (and no, it’s not the only thing about her that drives him crazy, and he tells her all the time) and he says that they look even sexier like this.

“Little _minx_ ,” he murmurs against her lips, trailing his hand higher, running his knuckles over the dampening front of her panties. “I barely got through the damn car ride.”

She giggles again, rolls her hips into his metal hand, and, _oh_. He brushes just barely over her little bundle of nerves. Her head falls back, her eyelashes fluttering closed at the sensation. But then he does it again, pressing a little harder, and she sucks in a gasp, eyelashes flying open to find him gazing down at her with a heavy stare.

“Natasha thought you were going to take me right there in the back seat,” she says, her voice just barely above a whisper, because the intensity of his stare is making her pulse race and her throat go dry.

He lets out a low growl, strokes two fingers over the front of her panties. She grasps onto his arm with both hands to hold him in place as she grinds her hips, needing _more_. She can hear the smirk in his voice as he tells her, “Trust me, I wanted to. Came pretty close to it, actually.” He bends forward and presses his face into her neck, pressing a wet, open kiss to her pulse, sucking gently, and her lips fall open. “You have no idea what kind of torture it is to sit next to you, in your little dress and your _stockings_ , and not touch you at all. Because I knew that as soon as I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” His smirk curves a little wider against her skin. “But of course you just couldn’t help yourself, and now look what’s happened.”

“I just held your _hand_ ,” she points out, her voice breathy and pathetic and not nearly as teasing as she’d meant it to be. His fingertips are swirling over her in nonsensical, feather-light touches, not giving her any real kind of pressure of relief, no rhythm to try and follow, and it’s driving her _crazy_.

“And batted those eyelashes of yours,” he murmurs, kissing the underside of her jaw, “and bit your lip,” he continues, licking at her earlobe, “and _moaned_ my _name_.”

She nearly giggles again. Well, that’s all very true.

“It was payback, for being such a tease last night.” He lifts his head to meet her gaze, his fingers stopping, and she whimpers. “Just like you are right now.”

“Oh?” His eyes are sparkling in mischief, swirling in arousal, as he lowers himself on his knees, his free hand pushing up the hem of her skirt. He always teases her, says it’s ridiculous that she wears her little skirts when it’s below freezing outside. But he certainly doesn’t seem to mind it right about now. “How was I teasing you last night, doll?”

Her heart stutters in her chest. She knows this game. She knows how much he loves making her talk, how much he loves hearing her tell him exactly what she’s thinking, what she feels. It’s his way of getting her out of her own head, yes, but it’s also his way of getting into _hers_. He opened his mind to her completely, and this is her way of doing the same.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you,” she starts, very nearly whimpering at the memory of her sitting on his lap, her hands gripping onto the headboard so tightly that she thought she might crack the wood. Of his lips wrapped around one of her nipples, sucking, teasing, as his hands gripped onto her hips to keep her in place, to keep her from grinding down on his thigh for any kind of relief. She couldn’t quite remember how long it had gone on. Seconds. _Minutes._ Just thinking of it is enough to make her squirm. “I was _aching_ , but you just—”

But she cuts herself off with a gasp as his tongue flattens over her through the damp front of her panties.

He groans, licking at her again, and again, nudging at her little bundle of nerves with the tip of his nose, and she threads her hands into his head and bites on her lower lip.

He flips her skirt up, meets her gaze and licks his lips. “Keep going.”

She mewls, shaking her head. If she tries talking while she does this she might not be able to keep quiet.

(She thinks that’s the point.)

“Keep going, doll, and I’ll make it so good,” he promises, pressing a soft, tender kiss to the inside of her thigh. She releases her lip from between her teeth, parts them in a soft whine when he nips at her skin. She draws in a shaky breath and he bites at the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her thighs.

Cold air hits her wet sex, and she shudders, her spine arching. He licks at her gently, as if in encouragement, and her voice is breathy and quivering as she says, “I was aching, but you just told me to wait. That it would feel so much better in the end.” He moans, slips his tongue through her folds and starts lapping at her sex, and she gasps again, yanking a hand out of his hair to scratch at the trunk of the tree. She sucks in a breath and tries to keep her voice low, tries to fight off a moan as she continues with, “I could feel you against my hip, but you didn’t want that. You wanted me o-on—” Her voice quivers as his tongue circles over her clit in slow, broad strokes. She swallows, hard. “You wanted… me on your – _lap_. _Oh_ , oh.”

She can’t tell if her voice is carrying in the air, doesn’t know if they’re far enough for it not to matter. But she doesn’t want to find out. She doesn’t want them to have to stop.

He pulls his mouth off of her, sounding a little breathless himself when he asks, “Why did I want that, baby?”

Her heart flutters in her chest. “To feel h-how _wet_ I was,” she breathes out, her body tingling as it remembers how her slickness felt on her skin, on _his_ skin.

He groans, sending vibrations against her slick folds, and her moan echoes up into the air before she can stop herself. He sucks at her clit over and over and over again, and she wonders if their friends can hear her cries from the tree farm.

Except, she doesn’t care, not right now, because the strokes of his tongue are relentless on her little bundle of nerves, and she’s _close_ , she’s _so close_ , and—

Then he pulls away, and she whimpers, trying to tug him back. He rises up from his knees, kisses the column of her throat, the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose. Her eyelashes flutter open as he takes her hand and brings it to the front of his pants, her heart thumping in her chest when she feels how hard he is.

“Tell me how you fucked yourself on my leg last night,” he whispers right into her ear, “while I fuck you against this tree.”

She _moans_.

(Her voice is coarse a few hours later, and she just giggles and tucks herself James’s side when Steve pulls a leaf from her hair.)


	18. Steve/Natasha + Natasha telling Steve that she’s pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s kind of pissed that it’s taking him so damn long to catch onto it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** Natasha telling Steve that she’s pregnant  
>  **for:** loictalon
> 
> I swear, I’ve written half a dozen variations of Natasha telling Steve she’s pregnant, and I love every single one of them.

The first time she’d tried, they were standing in the checkout line at the store, and Steve, of course, had caught the attention of the little boy sitting in the cart in front of them. His eyes had been big and bright and crazy blue, and when Natasha asked Steve if he thought their kid would have those eyes, he chuckled and said that hers were the prettiest.

The second time she attempted to be less subtle. Steve had caught her watching Tony and Pepper with little Nikki at a party, and Natasha had wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands sliding over her stomach, and said, “That’ll be us.” But Steve had just murmured, “Yeah, it will,” and kissed her rather deep and dirty in the middle of the ballroom.

So. She may have forgotten to press the matter after that.

The third time hadn’t necessarily been planned. She’d blamed Steve, of course, and the fact that he decided that he wanted to be a fucking _tease_ all night when they’d been out at a charity gala, so she really had no choice but to throw him through their front door the moment they got home and rip him out of his ridiculously tight dress shirt. He had at least made up for being such a shit by making love to her against the front door, then bent over the breakfast bar, then spread out on the kitchen island, then in the middle of the hallway floor.

By the time they’d made it onto the bed, she was sweaty and sticky, and Steve had been teasing his tongue against the marks he’d bitten into the column of her neck. She didn’t quite realize what she’d been saying when she murmured, “With how many times we’ve had sex, I should’ve been pregnant six times over by now.”

Steve had just laughed, bright and breathy right over her pulse, no doubt dismissing her words over the fact that he’d probably fucked her senseless. (Which, he _had_.)

The fourth try?

She’s hoping it’s the _last_ try. And honestly, she’s kind of pissed that it’s taking him so damn long to catch onto it. She’s turned down several drinks in front of him whenever they’re making appearances at events, or when one of their friends insists on getting something for her from the bar when they’re out for dinner. She’s had morning sickness for at least a week and a half by now (which sucks, no doubt, but isn’t as completely shitty as she’d anticipated; even Pepper had it pretty rough with her nausea in the first month). She’s had a handful of headaches, and has gotten dizzy a few times, over simple maneuvers on the training mats that she can do with her eyes closed. And it’s not like Steve hasn’t notice this.

He just thinks that she’s getting sick, or caught some sort of bug. Her being _pregnant_ probably isn’t a genuine possibility in his mind, and honestly? It hadn’t been hers, either.

She’d asked Helen and Bruce to run a few tests on her after about a week of morning sickness, just to see what the hell was going on. She didn’t _feel_ sick, and no amount of medicine had seemed to ease any of her symptoms.

She actually _laughed_ when Helen told her that she was pregnant. Until two seconds later, when she saw that Helen and Bruce were completely serious.

She had never wanted to be with Steve more than she had in that moment. Not that she could’ve, because she hadn’t even said anything to him, and he’d been halfway across the country in the middle of a five-day mission with Sam. But he’d know exactly what to say, how to help her take everything in. How to process that, somehow, even after the Red Room and the sterilization and all of the trauma, her body had managed to conceive life. How to process that she was going to be a _mother_ , and that there was a _baby_ growing inside of her.

She’d gone home that night, wanting to burrow herself into Steve’s chest and his muscles and his warmth. She hadn’t cried, exactly, but she had been sort of shaking and her eyes had absolutely teared up as she heated up the lasagna Steve had made for her before he left.

At least she could blame everything on her hormones, and the baby.

 _Their_ baby.

 _Fuck_.

“Hey,” he says, grasping her chin with his fingers and tilting her face to his. He’s smiling, of course, but his eyebrows are wrinkled ever so slightly. “You got really quiet all of a sudden.”

She feels her stomach fluttering in anticipation, but she wills her voice to come out steady and teasing when she says, “I’m surprised you even noticed with all of the noise,” and gestures around the cabin loft to all of their friends, laughing and happy and chattering as they’re opening presents. His lips quirk, but he’s still staring at her, expectant. He knows something’s up. He knows _her._ For some reason, she feels even more choked up. _Fucking hormones_. “Just open your damn present,” she laughs, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Nat—”

“Before I cut your hand off, Rogers,” she growls, not an ounce of malice behind her words. He still has that look of concern in his eyes, even as he chuckles and obediently starts ripping at the dinosaur wrapping paper she’d picked out for his gift.

She doesn’t notice she’s holding her breath until he pulls away the tissue paper and holds the sweater up, and she realizes her lungs are starting to burn for air.

He blinks. Once, twice, three times, lips parting – but his face is still sort of blank, tugging at the corners in confusion.

Oh, he’s an asshole. He doesn’t get it. He still _doesn’t get it_ —

“You’re—” He stops himself, like he’s afraid to say the word. No. Like he’s too damn excited to even get it out. His smile is wide and bright and so fucking _happy_ that it – it doesn’t _surprise_ her, exactly, but it makes a breath of laughter burst out of her.

He tackles her to the carpet before she can barely brink, but he’s cradling her, too, so she doesn’t actually _hit_ the ground, and his mouth is against hers, his tongue slipping past her lips as one of his hands comes between them and rests right over her stomach. It flutters under his touch and a tear rolls over her temple and into her hair. She’s shaking, practically _trembling_ , as she brings her hands up to cup his face, and the amused chatter of their friends is nothing but a mild, incoherent murmur of voices somewhere in the back of her head.

Eventually, Steve eases his lips off of hers, pulling away just enough to see her face. And he fucking _laughs_ when he finds her glaring at him.

“A month,” she starts, her voice quivering in barely-contained laughter. “I’ve been trying to tell you for a fucking _month_ , Rogers. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He looks _giddy_. “I guess the dots did line up.”

“You understand me without me having to say a word sometimes,” she says, and, okay. She’s definitely laughing right now. There’s no way in hell she’s _actually_ upset. “Why weren’t you catching on?”

He opens his mouth, whether to laugh or try to explain, she doesn’t find out, because then Clint says, “Okay, _enough_ with this shit!” and then Steve’s sweater – which had ended up wedged between them – is being yanked away. Natasha turns her head to watch as Clint rolls the thing out, holding it up for everyone else to see.

And then promptly throws it at her face.

“Watch it, man,” Steve jokes (well, half-jokes; she can hear it in his voice) as he pulls the sweater off of her face and sets it aside.

“What the hell?” Clint grumbles as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “You’re _pregnant_ and you told _him_ before the rest of us?”

Their friends all start talking at once, trying to be heard over the other, and she feels Steve’s chest rumble with laughter. She rolls her head to look up at him, staring up into his ridiculously blue, ridiculously _loving_ eyes. “Am I forgiven for being such an oblivious asshole?”

“We’ll see,” she says, and he’s laughing as he slants his lips over hers.


	19. Steve/Natasha + "Kiss Me Slowly" by Parachute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She couldn’t care less about the luxuries of where they stay, and it’s not like Steve _does_. But she knows he wants to be able to spoil her every now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** “Kiss Me Slowly” by Parachute  
>  **for:** petronellarose
> 
> Happy birthday, darling!!
> 
> So, when I first listened to the song, my brain latched onto the lyrics about the skyline and city lights and it… just stuck? I’m not even sure if that was the point of the song but. That was what I got, and then of course from there, I thought of smut.

They don’t have long.

They don’t really have tonight, either, but they’ll make it work. They always do. The last few months have been stolen moments like this, strung together, in different hotel rooms and different cities and different counties. It’s fairly similar to the way they’d existed together in the days of SHIELD, ironically enough. Maybe that’s why it works for them.

He bumps into her on a busy downtown street in Chicago, slips his keycard into her pocket when he pats her coat in brief gesture of apology, and she tips her head to the sidewalk to hide her smirk.

His hotel room is on one of the very top floors of a high-rise that’s practically all glass and steel. Classy and sleek, and completely unlike the border motel they rendezvoused at three weeks ago. She wonders how intentional that had been. She couldn’t care less about the luxuries of where they stay, and it’s not like Steve _does_. But she knows he wants to be able to spoil her every now and then. Which is why she hadn’t been all that surprised when a small package wrapped in silver had showed up on the bed of her motel room in San Diego. He’d wrapped up a pretty, little black cocktail dress and pearls to match in tissue paper, with a note scrawled on the back of a Starbucks napkin: _A little something pretty for our next night._

One week later, she slips into that same dress in a skinny bathroom stall at the café across from his hotel, dumps her bag in an alley (he’ll have another ready for her; he always does) and grips the keycard a little too tightly as she waltzes through the front door and smiles at the man behind the concierge desk.

Her stomach actually _flips_ as the elevator takes her up, and she knows it’s not because she’s nervous. It’s because she’s fucking _impatient_.

She slides the keycard through the mechanism, pushes the door open, and she swears her heart sort of _stops_ for a moment.

Steve.

 _Steve_.

She wonders if she’s imagining the way her blood is thrumming, pulsing, making her skin tingle and buzz, at the mere sight of him. He’s got his back to her, but his head is turned ever so slightly, so she can see his profile, and the little shit is _smirking._ He knows it’s her. Of course he does. He’s waiting for her to shut the door, but she doesn’t just yet. Not when she’s got this moment to herself to admire the way he looks in a suit from behind – the way the shirt stretches over his muscles, the way his fitted vest makes his shoulders look _broader_ , if possible. He’s got one hand tucked into his pocket, the other lightly gripping as tumbler of scotch, and she licks her lips, wanting to drink every last drop of it from his lips, his tongue.

He chuckles – soft and breathy and so full of amusement, so incredibly _Steve_ – and her hands actually fumble to shut the door. If he notices (he does), he doesn’t let it on.

And finally, he turns to face her. She half-expected his eyes to trace right down her dress, taking in the way it grazes the tops of her thighs, the way the neckline dips to bare the valley of her breasts, the way it cinches at her every curve. But his eyes stay on hers, bright and sparkling. _Relieved_.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” he breathes out, almost missing the glass coffee table in his haste to set his tumbler down and cross the room to her. She’s just barely gotten out a laugh when his hand slides into her hair, tangling in it, fisting it as he tugs her forward and crashes his lips onto hers. She very nearly whimpers, a burst of warmth unfurling in her chest and flooding through her veins, the way it always does when he touches her. Every first kiss after weeks of being apart feels as if it’s being seared into her skin, into her mind, into her fucking _soul_.

It makes everything feel hazy and dizzy, in the best way possible. It makes her feel as if everything’s clicked into place, if only for a moment.

He jostles them around, kissing her harder, deeper, as he maneuvers them further into the room. Her heart is hammering in her chest, her lungs starting to burn for air, and she’s so distracted that she doesn’t even notice where he’s leading them until he’s pressed her back against something solid and cold.

The window.

She doesn’t even have to open her eyes to know. Because she knows that she can hear the muffled, muted sounds of traffic and chaos below, but also because she knows _Steve_.

He probably picked this building – with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls, wrapping around almost every corner of the hotel – for exactly this. He probably picked a floor toward the top knowing that, while maybe not so easily seen, anyone in an nearby high-rise could very well look their way and see everything. See _them_.

And he probably _loved_ it. Maybe almost as much as she does. She’s always loved that little thrill that came with the job. The little chance of getting caught.

But it’s far better like this.

“ _Nat_ ,” he groans into her mouth, then yanks his lips away so abruptly that she mewls out in protest. His eyes are dark and stormy and hungry when she gazes into them, and he slides his hands down from her hair, grazing over her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve if her hips. Then he grips her gently, giving her a dimpled, boyish grin. “Ma’am.”

He heart fucking flutters. “Hi,” she breathes out. To his credit, he doesn’t tease her, even if his eyes are twinkling in amusement.

Then one of his hands slips between her legs, cupping her bared, slick sex, and she tosses her head back against the glass. He parts her, slides his middle finger up her folds, flicking at her little bundle of nerves, and she jerks against the glass. She can’t quite tell if she’s this worked up because it’s been a month, or because he’s doing this against a _window_. Or both.

(She doesn’t quite care, either way.)

He pulls his hand away, spins her around and steps forward, crowding her even closer to the glass, so that she’s practically pressed up against it. He doesn’t tell her to plant her palms against the glass, but he drops a kiss to her shoulder, anyway, as if thanking her. She tips her forehead forward, staring down at the street below, but not really _seeing_ anything at all as his hand slips between her legs again, fingers dipping through her wetness. He groans, hot and breathy, right into her ear. “You’re dripping, Nat,” he tells her, wiping off some of her arousal against the inside of her thigh, then sliding back, massaging his fingers over her folds. Her hips push back against him, and she can feel just how hard he is through his slacks.

“Fuck me,” she demands – pleads – and, like the ass he is, he hums in argument.

“No, darling,” he says, sinking two fingers into her and curling, making her let out a sharp, soft cry. He knows her body like the back of his hand. Knows that tight circles right over her clit will make her come in _minutes_ , that broad strokes over her folds will leave her gasping for air, and that sinking in deep and curling just right will have her crying out his name. He knows that she’ll bite down hard on her lip when she’s close, like she’s trying to hold off her orgasm. Knows that she’s sensitive enough just after her orgasm that it’ll take practically nothing at all to wring another from her right after. And _she_ knows that he enjoys drawing out her every sigh, every whimper and cry. “I think I want to enjoy you first,” he tells her.

He slides his fingers up and starts circling her clit, slow and broad at first, drawing each stroke out enough to make her shake.

And then he circles tighter, and faster, driving her right to the edge – then dipping his fingers away and teasing at her entrance, making her bod shudder.

“What I love most about you against this window, Nat,” he starts, tracing the tip of her nose over her temple, “isn’t just that no one down there knows you’re pressed up against it and dripping wet. It isn’t that anyone can just look over and see you fucking yourself on my hand.”

He slows his fingers, right on that dizzying edge again, and she actually whimpers as his hand slides slowly through her folds, massaging gently, almost leisurely. _The little shit_.

“No, what I love most about you against this window is that, despite someone being able to look over, not one of them gives a damn.” He dips his head to the curve of her neck, sucks a little bite into her pulse. She hooks a hand over the back of his neck, needing him closer, needing him to anchor her before she falls into oblivion. “Up here, we’re not fugitives. We’re not fallen heroes or vigilantes. Not a single person cares about who we were, who we _are_.” He starts circling her clit again, once, twice, three times, and – oh, _oh_. “It’s just you and me.”

He kisses her cheek – soft and sweet, almost chaste – and that’s what sets her off.

She cries out as her orgasm bursts over her, and she feels a little bit like she’s falling apart, but also not at all. Not with Steve right behind her, holding onto her, pressing kisses into the column of her neck and the dip of her shoulder.

She wants to kiss him. She really, really wants to kiss him, so she reaches back, tugs at his collar to bring him close, and she whimpers as his lips slant over hers. He hums against her mouth, absently stroking over her slick sex, making a shudder ripple through her, her body still humming. She knows they’re not done. Far from it, actually.

But, she wants to savor the feel of his arms around her a moment longer. She wants to savor in how fucking _perfect_ it feels to be two people, alone in their hotel room.

It’s just him and her, and everything in their world is in its place.


	20. Bucky/Wanda + Wanda telling Bucky that she wants to have a baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve talked about it before. Well, they’ve talked about it _once_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** Wanda telling Bucky that she wants to have a baby  
>  **for:** loictalon
> 
> These two are cuter than puppies, and even more so with this prompt!!

They’ve talked about it before. Well, they’ve talked about it _once_ , the one and only time they’d forgotten protection. It was something that neither of them had realized until moments after, because they’d simply been too impatient, and really, she can’t think of _anything_ when he’s got his lips on her neck like that.

She knew that, once upon a time, she’d wanted to have kids. When she was young, she loved the idea of having a house full of little boys and girls, running around just like she and Pietro used to do, and she’d sit on the patio and watch them the way her parents had. She wanted that. She thinks ( _knows_ ) that part of her still does, but things are a little different now. She’s not quite sure how much stress the experiments put on her body, if the strain of it all changed something about her, or if it’s dangerous now because of what it had done to her.

James seems confident that it hadn’t, and so is Pietro. And she understands where they’re coming from. Other than her powers, she doesn’t _feel_ very different than before.

But, the thought had still made her nervous, and she knew James could tell, too. Which is why he hadn’t really pushed it much that night. He’d simply promised that she could handle anything, and that he’d be right there with her, and then he’d kissed her again and again and again, until she was shaking and whimpering underneath him.

Things are different now, though.

She remembers how incredibly content Pepper had been during her pregnancy. How Natasha had been nervous, but overwhelmingly _happy_ , the moment she’d found out that she was pregnant.

She sees Tony and Pepper with Baby Nikki, and Natasha and Steve with Baby James, and she – she _wants_ that, too. She wants a baby boy with James’s messy head of hair and her little nose, or a baby girl with James’s incredibly blue eyes and her rosy cheeks. She wants to cradle them in her arms, hold them close and nuzzle her face into their little cheeks. She wants to see James hold their tiny baby against his broad shoulders, wants to hear him coo and babble and laugh, because she knows that he would. He _will_. He’ll make an amazing father.

And she knows that he _wants_ to be one. He’s never said as much, but she can feel it. Even without her powers, she’d be able to tell. It’s why his eyes light up whenever he’s holding Nikki or James. It’s why his entire smile brightens when little kids come up to him at the park, excited and chattering and practically climbing on top of him. It’s why he gets this total look of adoration when he sees Pepper and Tony with Nikki, and Natasha and Steve with James. He wants one that, wants to feel exactly as they do. He just wants her to want it, too.

She does. She _does_. James had known all along, too. He’d known that she would decide it for herself, and rather than trying to press it, to press _her_ , he’d simply waited.

Now she’s ready.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” James asks, tapping his finger on the tip of her nose. Wanda bats his hand away with a laugh. He wraps an arm around her and tucks her in closer to his chest. “You spaced out for a second.”

“I’m just happy,” she says, glancing around the room. It’s Christmas Eve, and they’re all sitting on the carpet of Tony and Pepper’s den as Tony and Sam pass out the gifts that had been stacked under the huge tree. She’s sitting on James’s lap, his metal hand tucked into her hair, gently massaging her scalp. She’s definitely more than _happy_ right now.

“Yeah?” He gives her a boyish, dimpled grin. “Happy that, after eight days of Hanukkah gifts, you still get more presents?”

“ _Stop_ ,” she laughs, playfully pushing him away when he tries to lean in. He raises an eyebrow and she giggles, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”

“Maybe a little,” he teases.

She grins, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She’s not feeling _nervous_. Not at all, actually. She’s excited, and she knows he can see it on her face, because he gets this twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “If I’m so spoiled, then why would I have a gift for you?” she asks as she curls her hand around his and gives it a squeeze.

He blinks, surprised, as she stands up and pulls him to his feet with her. “We already open gifts at home,” he reminds, but she just shrugs her shoulders cutely and tugs him toward the hallway.

She asked Pepper to hide the present for her the other night, because she didn’t want to tip anything off to James. She only really put this together a few days ago, but still. She pulls him into the kitchen, opens the cabinet under the kitchen island where Pepper had told her to look, and, sure enough, it’s there. Her hands are shaking ever so slightly as she holds it up for him to see, and he furrows his eyebrows, still smiling as he takes it and gives the box a shake. She bites her lower lip, watching his expression as he tries to listen for a sound.

“This thing’s pretty light,” he comments. “Sure you didn’t wrap air, darling?”

She laughs as she shakes her head. “Open it.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss her forehead, just because. Then he starts tearing off a corner of the wrapping paper, letting it fall away until he’s popping off the top of the gift box.

She watches as he pulls out the alphabet baby jumpsuit, the matching beanie, the matching baby booties – and, underneath all that, the stationary she’d written on: _Let’s have a baby!_

“This is—” He stops himself as he looks at her, eyes wide and bright. _Excited._ Her stomach flips. “You really want to?”

“Yes.” The word comes out soft and breathy and in a rush. James sets everything aside, his smile widening, and she very nearly squeals, “ _Yes!_ ” as she jumps into his arms, hooking her legs around his hips. His chest rumbles in a laugh as he smooths a hand down her back and over the curve of her hip, giving it a squeeze.

“I think my other gift should be getting started right now,” he says right into her ear.

She feels a warm tingle slide down her spine as she lifts her head from his neck, smiling widely. “Now who’s the spoiled one?”

“Trust me, doll,” he starts, tucking his free hand into her hair, and giving her a heavy, heated look that makes her stomach flutter in anticipation. “After I’m done, it’ll still be you.”


	21. Steve/Natasha + best friends admitting their feelings for the first time on Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Steve lets her get away with not talking about things. She has a feeling that’s not the case right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** best friends admitting their feelings for the first time on Christmas + first time on Christmas  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> Ironically, I got caught up in the story part and not the smut! So... I'll write more smut to make it up.

“You’re avoiding me.”

 _No, I’m not,_ she almost retorts, but she bites on her lower lip instead, curling her fingers a little tighter around the doorknob. She’s spending Christmas alone in her apartment rather than with him and his family in Brooklyn, even though he’d invited her more than once this week, and called her _this morning_ , which she hadn’t answered.

Sometimes Steve lets her get away with not talking about things. She has a feeling that’s not the case right now.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, glancing away from his face, and then back, watching as his expression softens. She knows he can hear it in her voice that something is off with her, and it’s something that she would’ve told him by now. They only met a year ago, but they became close ridiculously fast, because things have always just been natural between them. Even their flirtation had been comfortable, and fun, and something she’s never really had before. She’d only dated a few times, and the fact that she seemed to connect more with Steve over one weekend than any of her boyfriends that she’d dated for _months_ was a topic she tried to avoid. She’s terrible at relationships and she’s not dragging Steve through that, too.

Which is why she’s pissed at herself for wanting him the way that she does. For the way every muscle in her body feels like they’re itching to touch him, every inch of skin itching to be touched by him. For the way her heart does that stupid little flutter when she’s with him, and the way everything feels warm and bright and so fucking _perfect_ when he’s around.

Oh, she’s so screwed.

“You’re lucky it’s a holiday,” he starts, stepping his way past her and into the apartment, “because I’d give you more shit about not answering my calls.”

“Steve—”

But he ignores her and walks over to the coffee table, setting down the stack of presents he’d been balancing in his arm and the large Tupperware of Christmas dinner she knows his mother, Sarah, must’ve set aside for her when he showed up alone. He’s mad at her. Not enough to ignore her, too, but Steve still wouldn’t do that. He’s a much better person than she is, and no matter how annoyed he might be with her, there’s no way he’d actually leave her alone if he thought there might be something to worry about. It’s not as if they spend every single second together, but they talk at least once a day, and most nights, she spends more time at his place than hers. The fact that they’ve talked maybe twice over the last is enough for Steve to tell that something is wrong. And the fact that she hasn’t seen him in person for _five days_ tells him that whatever’s bothering her, it has something to do with him.

“Mom made steak, just the way you like it,” he says after a moment, glancing over his shoulder at her.

She blinks. “Your mom’s never even met me.” Well, other than all of the calls they’ve had over FaceTime, because Steve always leaves his phone lying around. But Sarah had been charmed by her the first time, and now it’s kind of become their thing.

“She remembers when you told her about that steakhouse we went to.” _On Valentine’s Day_ , he doesn’t add, but she can practically feel it weighing the air between them. They’d gone as friends, because everyone else they knew had a significant other to celebrate with. That didn’t stop her heart from flipping when he’d showed up at her door in a suit and a bouquet of yellow roses, just like it isn’t stopping her heart from flipping right now at the memory. “She was really excited to meet you, Nat,” he says, voice soft, as he finally turns to face her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, meaning it, and, _fuck_. If he keeps looking at her with that gentle, almost apologetic expression, like it’s somehow _his_ fault, she’s going to fucking _scream_.

“Will you stop apologizing and tell me what’s going on?” He gives her a crooked smile. “Because I miss my best friend, and I’d like her back, please.”

God, he’s such a sap. “It’s nothing. I just – didn’t want to interrupt your Christmas with your family.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, they don’t even know me.”

“Nat, they know all _about_ you, because I talk about you all the time.” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “Our pictures are all over my phone, and I’ve sketched you more times than I could count. You probably talk with my mom once a week. And my dad’s got a trip to Russia half-planned because he wants you to come with us and give us a proper tour.” Smiling a little wider, he takes a step toward her. Not cautious, exactly, but slow enough to give her the chance to step back. But she doesn’t, so he keeps walking until they’re standing right in front of each other, and he grasps her arms above her elbows, giving them a squeeze. She exhales, long and shaky. He furrows his eyebrows. “Is that what this is about? My parents?”

“ _No_ ,” she says quickly, meeting his eyes. “Not like that, anyway.” She winces. She doesn’t know what she’s saying and it’s pissing her off. “You don’t think it’s too much? That it’ll send the wrong message if you brought me home for Christmas?”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something a little bit like hope. Maybe she’s imagining it. “And what message is that?” he asks.

“That we’re—” She blinks, holding his gaze. It’s soft yet steady and _sure_ , and something in her clicks into place. Her lips part, and his mouth quirks at the corners. “ _Are_ we?”

He grasps her face with both of his hands, his fingertips still calloused from all of that sketching he does, and cold from the crisp air outside, but it feels fucking _perfect_ against her flushed skin. He strokes his thumbs over the apples of her cheeks, his smile growing softer and sweeter. “I was kind of hoping we’d be,” he says, his breath warm against her face.

“You never said anything,” she argues weakly, even as a burst of warmth unfurls in her stomach, spreading through her veins. “Not a _damn thing_ , Rogers.”

His laugh ghosts across her skin. She can’t help but smile. “I know you like to shut down when you’re freaked out.” He inches closer, grazing his lips along her jaw, pressing a soft kiss against her skin. “I wanted it to be your call, happen at your pace. So I know you were absolutely sure.”

Despite the hesitance in his voice, his hands are firm as he guides her to the couch, gently guiding her to lay down on the chaise. She sucks in a breath when he lowers himself above her, kissing the shell of her ear. She’s not quite sure how they’d gone from almost arguing to _this_ within seconds, but, like with everything else about Steve Rogers, it feels _natural_. He fits above her as if they’ve done it for years, teases his lips against her skin like he’s done it a thousand times. Avoiding her lips like he knows just how much she needs him to kiss her.

“You’re the only thing I’m sure about these days,” she says, and it’s a miracle her voice comes out firm, almost casual, even though every other part of her is quickly unraveling at his touch.

He smiles at her – bright and brilliant and so fucking _beautiful –_ and tucks his hand under the hem of her sweater, making her skin tingle.

“Is this going too fast?”

He’s smirking. He’s fucking _smirking._ Of course he is. Because he still wants her to kiss him first, but instead of it being a question, it’s a _challenge_.

“It’s not fast enough,” she snaps, smiling way too widely for him to think that she’s actually upset. She hooks her legs around his hips and tugs him by the coat he still hasn’t taken off. If he wants to play this game, then fine. She can play. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined you doing to me on this couch,” she whispers into his ear. He groans out a laugh and dips his head, sucking a kiss into her neck. She’s smiling like an idiot, but she doesn’t care. “Though most of the time, I’m bent over the back of it, or I’ve got you trapped underneath me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he murmurs into her neck, nipping at her pulse. She sucks in a breath, her stomach coiling, tightening. “Maybe you can tell me while I eat you out.”

She stills, feeling him smirk against her skin. “W-What?”

He lifts his head, holding her gaze as he slides lower down her body, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her leggings and tugging them down her hips. She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe as he leans down and kisses the bared skin of the inside of her thigh, peeling away her leggings.

“You can _tell me_ while I _eat you out_ ,” he repeats, almost punctuating every word. He’s got that crooked, boyish smile on his face, pulling her leggings off and tossing them onto the carpet. “Because you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you, just like this, with your legs wrapped around my head, _demanding_ that I make you come.”

Her heart almost stops. It almost literally _stops._ And, after one, long pause, she manages to ask, “What happened to going too fast, Rogers?”

He chuckles, leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the front of her panties, and she bites her lower lip to stifle her moan. She grips onto the cushions of the couch, digs her nails in and lifts her hips, and of course Steve knows what she wants. He breathes out another chuckle, tugging her panties down her legs and off, tossing them aside. Her legs fall open, and Steve wraps a hand over one of her knees, giving it a squeeze as he spreads her legs a little more. He flicks his eyes up her body to meet her gaze, and he fucking _smiles_.

God, she loves that smile.

“Don’t forget to use your words, love,” he says, and her heart skips at the endearment like she’s some kind of schoolgirl, but she doesn’t care. Not when he licks a wide stripe up her center.

(When he finally, _finally_ kisses her, she whimpers at the taste of herself on his tongue, and he asks what fantasy she wants to play out next.)


	22. Steve/Natasha + unusual gestures designed to win someone’s attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m surprised the whole castle hasn’t found out about it. Everyone loves to gossip about their Triwizard Champion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,500  
>  **prompt:** unusual gestures designed to win someone’s attention  
>  **for:** crimsonxblaze
> 
> I did a little creeping and remembered that you made a [Hogwarts au](http://crimsonxblaze.tumblr.com/post/163015085313/romanogers-reverse-mini-bang-hogwartsau) for the Big Bang a while back, so I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed it for inspiration!

“We heard you and Steve are fighting again.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, looking up from her book as Maria takes a seat beside her on the bench. Maria narrows her eyes, pulling the hood of her robe over her head and tucking it around her ears, and just Natasha smirks and shrugs her shoulders. Winters here are far more bearable than the ones Natasha had experienced in Russia, which means that, while everyone else won’t step a foot outside the castle if they don’t need to, Natasha can enjoy a little peace and quiet in the courtyard. And _that_ means her friends have to brave the December chill and wander outside to find her if they insist on not being ignored until dinner. Which isn’t what Natasha’s doing. She’s just not in the mood for conversation, either.

“Not that you’ll actually confess,” Sharon says with a teasing grin. “You _snakes_ are always so tight-lipped about your drama.”

“That’s because we don’t feed off of attention like you lions,” Natasha retorts, not an ounce of malice in her tone. Sharon giggles and shakes her head. “And I’m surprised the whole castle hasn’t found out about it. Everyone loves to gossip about their Triwizard Champion.”

Wanda frowns as she sits on Natasha’s other side. “Is that what this is about?” she asks, no doubt picking up on the slight snarl in Natasha’s tone. “That Steve got chosen?”

“No, that was what they fought about at the beginning of the year, remember?” Maria points out dryly.

Natasha grips onto her book a little tighter. As if any of them could forget. Headmaster Fury had even pulled her aside to talk to her afterward, when Steve had stormed off and everyone by the Lake had long cleared out. Natasha expected to be reprimanded for causing a scene, even though there definitely hadn’t been a crowd _before_ she and Steve had started arguing. But Headmaster Fury had just brushed the scene off, instead asking her why, as Steve’s best friend, she wasn’t happy that he’d been chosen as their champion?

And, she _was_ , she supposed. It’s an honor and he certainly deserves it.

But talking with Fury about it that day had only served to leave her more pissed off than the actual argument. Because, honor or not, there’s no arguing the actual _dangers_ that come with participating in the Triwizard Tournament. Why the schools would consent in putting their students through these kinds of challenges is _ridiculous_ , and after he’d nearly drowned during the first challenge, she thinks it’s insane that Steve is still acting as if this is all just a game. There have been far worse casualties in the history of this stupid tournament – she had Wanda help her scour the history section of the library to find them – and everyone seems too caught up in the excitement to even give that a second thought, especially Steve.

And, no. She knows Steve doesn’t take this tournament lightly at all. He’s careful and creative and incredibly talented, and it’s why he was chosen to participate.

She gets it. She _gets it_. Just as she gets how Steve would be hurt by her not being as supportive about the whole thing. That’s really what all their fights have come down to over the last few weeks.

They’ve always butted heads over ridiculous things, but it never felt as intense as it always seems to be now. Any disagreement they’ve had recently feels far more overwhelming than it should and she knows it might not be like that if she bit her tongue. But he doesn’t have to act as if worrying about him means that she doesn’t believe in him.

Honestly, she’s fucking _hurt_ that he would think that, let alone say the words to her face.

As if reading her thoughts, Wanda grips onto Natasha’s arm with both of her hands, her forehead wrinkled in concern. “You should tell Steve how you feel. Not about the tournament,” she adds quickly, no doubt anticipating Natasha’s retort when she parted her lips. “About how you feel about him.”

“And how he feels about _you_ ,” Sharon chimes in. “I swear, the entire castle knows how you two feel about each other. You’re both just too stubborn to listen to reason.”

Natasha opens her mouth to answer, but she pauses, something bright catching her gaze at the corner of her eye. She stands, gazing upward at the sky and feeling a laugh fall from her lips when she sees it. She’d thought that it was starting to snow, but now that she’s paying attention, the snowflakes are glittering and _moving_ , swirling around and moving toward each other in the air. She hears Wanda let out a little giggle beside her as she and Maria stand from the bench, too, and they watch as the snow starts to form together and then shift.

Ballerinas.

The snow is forming the silhouettes of _ballerinas_ , twirling and leaping and pirouetting in the air, cascading in a slow, mesmerizing spiral from a single point high above the courtyard.

“Look.” Sharon nudges Natasha’s arm and points toward the roof, and Natasha lets out another laugh when she notices Sam and Bucky sitting there, wands in hand and their feet dangling over the ledge. They grin like idiots and wave at her.

“Here comes Prince Charming,” Maria quips, sounding entirely amused, and Natasha glances down and across the courtyard.

 _Steve_.

He’s got that dimpled, boyish smile on his face as he walks over to her, and, before she can quite help herself, she’s walking forward to meet him halfway – right in the middle of the magically-animated snow ballerinas. (That had probably been the idea.)

“What’s with the little show?” she asks, her tone teasing rather than sharp, and Steve’s expression seems to ease even more. She holds her hand out, her palm facing upward, and a little ballerina lands on her hand, holding its pose. Steve grins, pulls his wand from his robes and murmurs something under his breath that she doesn’t quite catch, and the ballerina that’s in her hand bursts into a flurry of snowflakes, leaving behind a ballerina-pendant necklace. Her breath catches, and Steve tucks his wand away, taking the necklace by the chain.

“I wanted to get your attention,” he explains, reaching around her neck so he can fasten her necklace into place, “without running the risk of you walking out on me again.”

She exhales. “Steve, we don’t have to talk about it,” she tells him. But he shakes his head, tucks his hands into her hair and cradles her head. Her heart is thrumming in her chest.

“I want to,” he says, his voice softer. “Natasha, I’m sorry for not listening to you closely enough. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Yes, you did, maybe a little bit,” she corrects gently. She’s not trying to argue with him again, but she doesn’t him to think that she wasn’t listening, either. She shrugs her shoulders. “I _haven’t_ been supportive enough and I know it. You should know by now that I’ll always be on your side, but that doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. I shouldn’t lecture you so much.”

“I do know that you’re on my side. That’s why—” He swallows, his grip tightening on her ever so slightly, but it doesn’t hurt at all. “That’s why it hurt when it felt like you were just questioning my every move.” She winches, opens her mouth, but he rushes on. “But I know now, okay? I _know_. I know it’s because you care so much. I knew all along, but I think it just threw me off that you suddenly weren’t confident in me all the time. And the reason why that hurt me so much is because I love you and I felt like I was just disappointing you.”

Her throat feels tight, and she blinks, once, twice, and then rapidly. “What?” she asks.

He smiles at her. “I love you,” he repeats, slower this time, “and I know you love me, too, and that’s why you’re so worried about the tournament.”

“I—” She blinks again, her eyelashes dotting with tears. Fuck. _Fuck_. “I do love you, and I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“It won’t,” he replies easily, as confident as ever, and a giggle bursts from her lips as she shakes her head. “You know me, Nat. I’m _stubborn_ , and there’s so much more that I want than to win this tournament. I want to take you on dates, and I want us to graduate together, and I want to marry you, and I want to have a dozen little troublemakers with you—”

“Steve—” she laughs.

“—and, one day, I want to stand on that platform and watch our children get on that train, and then we’ll watch or grandchildren, and maybe, if we’re lucky, our great-grandchildren—”

“Stop, stop,” she interrupts, still laughing as she reaches between them and grasps onto his robes with shaking hands. “I don’t think we’re going to live that long, Steve.”

“Sure we are.” He smiles, wide and brilliant and _happy_. “I’m a champion, after all.”

She rolls her eyes with a laugh, but then he’s pulling her close, sliding his lips over hers, and the rest of the world just dissolves away.


	23. Steve/Natasha + snowy mountain cabins (photo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows that Steve loves her and only her.
> 
> That doesn’t mean she particularly enjoys watching every woman in this ski resort throw themselves at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** [this photo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/9f419097f2b3ba26de4517bc1ca5a09c/tumblr_messaging_oxw4ytOKep1uevyxw_500.jpg)   
> **for:** gomustanggirl16
> 
> I’ve already done two different cabin settings in the royal ‘verse for this giveaway, but here’s another because I’m trash.

She knows that she’s being ridiculous. She’s _jealous_ and there’s absolutely no reason for her to be, because she knows that Steve loves her and only her.

That doesn’t mean she particularly enjoys watching every woman in this ski resort throw themselves at him.

It felt as if she couldn’t turn around without finding some blonde batting her eyelashes at him, or some brunette leaning into his space and flirting with him as if Natasha wasn’t right there. Yes, not everyone in this place is going to know that she’s a princess and Steve is one of her bodyguards, but still. He, Bucky, and Clint are the only three people in this entire resort wearing suits rather than coats, and she thinks it’s rather apparent by the way they hover over her shoulders that they’re there for _her_. Not that this seems to matter to these girls. They flock to Steve as if they’re the ones on a mission, and after hours of biting her tongue and turning the other way to avoid causing some kind of scene, she’s finally had it.

“Easy now,” Wanda says when Natasha very nearly slams her glass into the sink. Natasha glares at her, but the girl just smiles, very clearly amused. “We don’t own the place.”

“If you’re just going to make fun of me, you’re dismissed,” Natasha mutters. No, it’s not the first time she’s said something like that to Wanda, but she’s never, _ever_ meant it. Not even now. She’s just pissed, and she knows Wanda will let her throw attitude and then brush it off.

It’s one of the reasons why she loves the girl so much.

Wanda crosses her arms and leans on the counter, her eyes sparkling. “It’s cute, seeing you like this. I don’t think you’ve ever been this frazzled before.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, ignoring the girl’s wide grin as she rinses off her glass and shoves it into the dishwasher.

Before she can turn and walk away, though, Wanda grasps onto her arm and tugs her back, her smile easing into something softer, more sympathetic. “I know you hate that those girls can flirt with Steve all they want when you can’t.” Wanda gives her a comforting squeeze. “But you know none of that matters. You’re the only one that he will ever have eyes for.”

“I know,” Natasha says on an exhale, already feeling some of the tension in her shoulders ebbing at the thought of how much of a bitch she must’ve been toward Steve. It’s not his fault – it never is – and she doesn’t take it out on him, necessarily. But she _does_ get upset, and he hates that there’s really nothing he can do about it. Not unless they want to come forward to her parents and the public, and she doesn’t want to deal with that just yet. She loves the peace that comes with their little secret. She’s not ready to give any of that up.

But she doesn’t want to hide their relationship forever.

She knows that’s the real reason she’s so pissed off right now. Yes, she’s not thrilled about people flirting with Steve. But she doesn’t want to become public with him simply to get other women to back off.

She _loves him_. She wants to be able to kiss him without the worry of someone finding out, or hold his hand in public longer than it takes for him to help her out of the car.

She knows her parents would want her to be happy, too. They may not be thrilled to find out that they’ve kept it a secret, and she knows there are probably will words with Steve about his intentions. But they trust him with her life and she knows that’s a big deal. Their opinion of him won’t change simply because he’s kissed her behind closed doors.

“Don’t go to bed without talking to him, okay?” Wanda asks, and she waits until Natasha nods before kissing her cheek and wishing her goodnight.

Natasha heads upstairs and to her suite, pausing in the doorway when she sees Steve sitting on the edge of her mattress. They got back to their cabin over an hour ago but he’s still wearing his suit (too distracted to change, evidently) but with his collar undone and his tie unknotted, hanging loosely around his neck. He’s so handsome it’s ridiculous.

He turns to look at her as she walks in, and as soon as she sees the genuine worry tugging at his expression, she feels something tug at her chest.

“Hi,” she says, but she’s barely gotten the word out before he’s got his arms around her, very nearly crushing her to his chest in a hug, but she likes it. No, she _loves_ it. She loves how it feels to have his arms around her. To be engulfed in his warmth, to fit against him and rest her head on his broad shoulder. She can’t count how many times she’s wanted him to hold her just like this at one of the dozens of galas and balls that they’ve been to. She can’t count how many times she’s wished he could take her hand and twirl her under in the middle of the dance floor, giving her that bright, dimpled smile that she loves so much. She presses her face into his neck and kisses his pulse. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch,” she murmurs.

“You weren’t a bitch. A brat, maybe,” he says, and a laugh bursts out of her, because she can practically hear his teasing smile in his voice. “But only a little bit, I promise.”

“How generous of you.” She tips her head back to look at him, his eyes twinkling in amusement, and complete _adoration_. There’s really no other word to describe the tenderness in his gaze, the way it makes her heart flutter, makes her skin tingle and her cheeks flush.

She loves him. She loves him _so much_ , and she always wants to feel the way she does when he looks at her like this. Without guard or wariness of prying eyes. Without restraint.

“Hey, Steve,” she says, her voice soft, even to her own ears. He smooths a hand over her back as he hums in acknowledgment. “I think I’m ready.”

She feels him still, feels his hold tighten on her ever so slightly. She thinks even feels his heartbeats pick up as he furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Nat?”

She swallows. It suddenly feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, but in the best way possible. Because everything always feels better with Steve. “I _know_ I’m ready,” she tells him, stretching on her toes to nudge her nose against his. She feels him let out a soft, sharp breath. “And I want to know if you’re ready, too, because I want to tell my parents.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, holding onto her even tighter, nuzzling his face into her cheek. She laughs, too, her eyelashes dotting with tears. “I want to tell _everyone_.”

“Maybe we should just start with my parents,” she says with a chuckle. “I don’t think they’ll take it well if they hear it from the media first.” Steve lifts his head to meet her gaze as she arches an eyebrow, feeling her smile widen, if possible. “Think you can handle the chaos we’re about to cause?”

“Yeah.” He smirks, his eyes glinting. “It’ll be fun.”


	24. Steve/Natasha + first Christmas in Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as they can slip away from, she’s going to drag him back to their room and smother him with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** first Christmas in Russia + semi-public sex + marriage proposal  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm
> 
> More trash, enjoy.

She’s going to kill him.

As soon as they can slip away from, she’s going to drag him back to their room and smother him with a pillow.

“Want some more wine, love?” Steve asks, and, _fuck_. In another life, this man should’ve been an actor, because his sweet, casual smile is pretty damn convincing. Everyone in this room would think that he’s simply gazing at her adoringly, like any other boyfriend would. But she knows better. She knows that the twinkle in his eyes is mischievous, that his smile is tugging ever so slightly at the edges, hiding the smirk he’s wanted to wear since ever he slipped his hand under the thigh-high slit of her cocktail dress under the table an hour ago.

She loosens the tight grip she’d had on the stem of her wine glass, giving the waitress a polite smile as she holds it up to be refilled. Steve curves his hand around the top of her thigh and gives it a squeeze, daring her to flinch, to draw attention to themselves, but she just barely holds herself still.

 _Oh, that little_ _shit_.

The waitress leaves once she’s finished and Steve’s hand slips over the front of her panties again. They’re _soaked_. Of course they are.

Steve has been teasing her for the better part of an hour now, swirling patterns over the inside of her thigh, stroking his fingers over her folds through the lace of her panties, trying to make her squirm. She’s far too stubborn to relent, but, _fuck_.

He knows her body like the back of his hand. He knows exactly where to touch her, how much pressure to use to drive her crazy, and even she has her limits.

“I can’t believe you never invited us to Russia before, Nat!” Tony says, tipping his head up toward the ceiling like he’s done at least three other times since they walked into the restaurant. She’d roll her eyes, but Steve circles his thumb and her eyelids flutter ever so slightly at the burst of warmth that shoots through her.

“She _hadn’t_ invited us, darling,” Pepper says with a laugh and a shake of her head. Tony dismisses her with a wave, and Pepper turns another amused, slightly apologetic smile to Natasha and Steve. The woman will probably wear it for the entire vacation, because it’s true. Steve had surprised Natasha with tickets and a hotel reservation for a two-week stay in Russia for the holidays. When Tony found out, he decided it would be perfect to tag along, and honestly? She knows Steve was more irritated at first than he’d ever let on. But he got over it within the same breath, practically, and so did she. Things are a little easier between them, and if tagging along will be good for Steve and Tony then Natasha doesn’t mind.

(The fact that Tony will only be here for a week rather than two, and the fact that he’s basically paid for everything so far, helps her mind it even less.)

“If you apologize one more time, Pepper, I _will_ be pissed,” Natasha says, and somehow, her voice comes out teasing and completely steady. A miracle, really, considering Steve has just slipped his hand under the waistband of her panties and stroked over her with two fingers.

Steve chuckles, and Natasha tilts her head at him, giving him a tight smile. His eyes are fucking _sparkling_.

 _Oh, that’s it_.

She narrows her eyes at him ever so slightly and he breathes out a lap, pulling his hand away and discreetly wiping it on the cloth napkin in his lap. “If you don’t mind wrapping up here for us,” Steve stars, slipping his card out of his pocket to hand it to Tony for their half of the bill, “I think I want to take a nice walk through the snow with my girlfriend.”

Tony’s grinning like an idiot, something so knowing in his eyes that Natasha feels her heart skip. Did he figure out what was happening under the table?

“Don’t offend me, Rogers,” Tony says, pushing his card away, and Steve just chuckles and tucks it back into his pocket. He _winks_ , and Pepper practically beams. “Have fun, you two.”

Steve drapes her coat over his arm as his hand slides over the small of her back, guiding them toward the exit of the hotel restaurant. “What the hell was Tony talking about?” she asks with an arch of her eyebrow, but he ignores her, staring ahead with that boyish smile of his. “ _Steve_. Tell me.”

He leans in, brushes a kiss to her cheek, and then whispering, right into her ear: “Would you rather talk about Tony, or would you rather I throw you on our bed instead?”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” she practically growls. He _smirks_ , and she lets out a huff, grasping onto his tie and dragging him down the hallway and into the restroom. His laugh echoes off the walls as she shoves him into the largest stall at the end and up against the tiled wall. “ _Tell me_ , Rogers,” she demands, but he just tucks his fingers into her hair and yanks her lips up to his in a deep, hungry kiss. He kisses her breath away, kisses her until her lungs start to burn, and she can practically feel her wetness sliding down the inside of her thigh as her walls flutter.

Then he rolls them over, pressing her back into the wall. Her dress dips low in the back, baring her skin to the cold tile, and her spine arches as she lets out a moan.

“Anyone can walk in on us, you know,” he murmurs into her cheek. She reaches between them, practically clawing at the buckle of his belt until she’s gotten it undone, sliding it off and tossing it onto the floor in a clatter. He already knows what her answer will be, but he still asks, still waits for her permission.

It’s ridiculous how much she loves him.

She pushes his pants down his hips, wraps her hand around him and spreads the wetness at his tip over her palm. “Yes, they can, and you know you love it.” She strokes her hand over him, slowly, teasingly, giving him a little squeeze. He groans, drops his forehead to hers. “Don’t you, Rogers?” She flicks her wrist, strokes him a little faster. “ _Tell me_.”

“I do love it,” he breathes, ignoring her real demand, and fucking smirking at her when she huffs out another frustrated breath. “I want to be in you, Nat.”

“I want _you_ to stop keeping secrets,” she retorts. (And, yeah, she realizes how ironic that sounds coming from her mouth, and the fact that all he does is smirk a little wider in response just shows how much he _does_ trust her now.)

He grasps her hand, pulling it off of him before gripping her hips and lifting her higher up the wall. She wraps her arms around his neck, hooks her legs around his hips, and he presses his length right at her entrance, the tip of him sliding through her folds. He brushes against her little bundle of nerves and she bites down on his neck to muffle her whimper. His chest rumbles with a laugh. “No, Nat, I don’t think that’s what you want.” He starts pushing into her, just barely, and her lips part in a silent moan. “I think you want me to fuck you so hard that they’ll hear us from the restaurant.” He presses her body harder between him and the wall. “I think you want me to fuck you so hard that they’ll hear us from the very top floor.”

 _Yes_. God, _yes_.

But she shakes her head stubbornly, even as her lip quivers as he pushes all the way in. “Just tell me.”

He laughs again, squeezes her hips as he pulls out and thrusts back in, and they both tip their heads back in a load moan that echoes off of the walls.

He goes slow at first – he always does, savoring in the stretch of her, letting _her_ savor the way he presses against her every muscle – but she’s been wound up for all of dinner, and she knows that he’s been, too. He loves teasing her, loves touching her knowing how her body is melting and quivering and squirming under his touch. It’s why he’s so _hard_ right now.

His thrusts grow harder, and faster, his mouth sucking at her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed over the column of her neck.

“Marry me,” he murmurs, angling his hips and brushing right over her sweet spot, and she tips her head back and lets out a keening moan.

“F-Fuck you,” she breathes out with a laugh. He’s such an _ass_.

He smirks against her neck, reaching between them to circle over her clit. She _whimpers_. “That’s what we were talking about, baby.” Her eyelashes flutter open as he lifts his head to meet her gaze. Her skin is flushed, her entire body quivering, her stomach coiling and tightening. He leans in and kisses her lips, soft and sweet. “If you’d just been patient, I would’ve taken the ring out of my pocket and gotten down on one knee. Of course,” he adds, nipping at her lower lip, “if you _were_ patient, you wouldn’t be the woman I’d fallen in love with.”

“You’re always such a sap,” she says, her voice quivering, and not just because he’s got her right there on that blissful peak. She blinks, her eyelashes dotting with tears.

“You love that about me.” He gives her a bright, beautiful smile, and she swears she can’t _breathe_.

“I love you.” She very nearly cries the words out, Steve’s thumb circling quicker and tighter over her little bundle of nerves, and she’s right there, she’s _right there_. “ _Steve_ , Steve—”

Her orgasm bursts over her in a sharp cry, dissolving into a whimper as Steve kisses her, slipping his tongue past her lips and sliding it against hers. He continues thrusting through her orgasm, keeps massaging his thumb over her clit, and she bites down on his lower lip as her body shakes.

He eases his lips off of hers, letting her gasp for air as he kisses every inch of her face. She’s humming, completely weightless as she slips back down to earth.

“I’ll take that as a _yes_ ,” he teases, sliding the ring onto her finger, and, _fuck_. If she starts crying, she’s going to be pissed.

“Yes, you ass,” she breathes out on a laugh, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. Her turns his head, kissing the inside of her palm, and then the band of her engagement ring, before leaning into her touch again, giving her an adoring, boyish smile. Her heart flutters. “ _Yes_ , I’ll marry you.”


	25. Steve/Natasha + pampering + Nutcracker Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always kind of hopes that he’ll come home to find her dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **prompt:** pampering + Nutcracker Ballet  
>  **for:** fairyoffthecoast
> 
> Thank you for waiting so long for this, darling! I didn’t put as much focus on the ballet part as I’d wanted to, but I hope you still like the fluff that came from it!

He can hear music when he pauses at their door, and it makes him smile because he knows what it means.

She’s dancing.

He’d never seen Natasha dance before they moved in together. Not even all those mornings he’d spent at her apartment, or those nights she’d spent at his, and it was something he didn’t think twice about. He knew what her history was, knew that she’d been trained in it, among other things. He thought it was simply a skill she utilizes while undercover.

But, she loves it. She _loves_ it, and he knows that she does, because she gets this little sparkle in her eyes and this flush on her cheeks, and because she looks so damn _content_.

He remembers the first time he’d seen her dance. She hadn’t been embarrassed, exactly, but he could tell that she hadn’t expected him to be home so early after his meeting with Nick and Tony. She had a classical song he couldn’t quite place playing on the home system that Tony had installed in their apartment, the music soaring and curling through the air from the kitchen, and he’d walked in to find her holding her arms over her head and her leg bent out in a point. He knew almost nothing about dancing, and he’s only ever been to the ballet once when he and Bucky were in middle school, but somehow he could tell that her form was _perfect_. His mom used to say how ballet was hard work made to look effortless.

And Natasha? She makes elegance look downright _easy_.

She’d simply given him this little smile when he walked in, evidently too lost in her dance and in the song to actually _hear_ him let himself in, which he loves. He loves that she can be completely at ease with him, and that she’s always sort of been, even when things were more complicated.

(Being with her had made him feel the most at home after coming off of the ice. Now he knows that the feeling has been the same for her, too.)

Now he always kind of hopes that he’ll come home to find her dancing, like tonight.

He unlocks the door and walks through, feeling his smile widen when he sees her in the living room. She’s in leggings and one of his shirts that she’s knotted to the side, its wide neck falling off of one of her shoulders as she comes out of a twirl, coming to face him, and his heart actually thumps when her entire expression brightens at the sight of him. He hopes he never gets over that little rush he gets when she smiles at him like that. Then her gaze drops to the bouquet he’s got in one hand, and the shopping bags in his other, and she laughs.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy Lila, Cooper, and Nate _more_ gifts,” she says, her tone bright and amused as she walks over to him. “I think four for each of them is enough.”

“Says the one who’s spoiled them rotten for a lot longer than I have,” he retorts. She’s smiling as she rolls her eyes, and he leans in to kiss her, shifting the bouquet into her hands. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Christmas is still three days away,” she points out, but he doesn’t miss the way her eyelashes do that little flutter thing that she does whenever she might cry. She runs her finger over a few of the petals, her smile softening. “This is a lot, Steve. You’ve taken me out to dinner all month, practically, and then to the spa, and then that weekend in the cabin.”

“It’s the holidays. It’s fine.” He holds up the bags, and she lets out a laugh when she gets a good look at just how many of them there are. “I made sure I got your favorite chocolates from every corner of New York, too. And those cookies you love from the bakery I took you to in Brooklyn. And Pepper has these imported coffee beans she wants you to try out.”

“Well, you obviously took my ‘ _don’t spoil me_ ’ speech from last night to heart.” She grins. “I feel like Clara.”

“What?” he asks as he sets the bags down on the coffee table.

“Oh, I forgot you’re uncivilized and have never heard of ballet before,” she teases, one eyebrow arched. He chuckles and grasps her hips, pulling her close, pressing another kiss to her lips, just because he wants to. “Clara, from the Nutcracker. When she saves his life, she’s given sweets from around the world.” Her eyes are sparkling as she grins a little wider. “You know, you’re quite the Nutcracker yourself,” she says, and he chuckles softly. “A prince in disguise, pulled from everything he knows, waiting for the damsel to help him fight in a war.”

“Sounds familiar.” He laughs as he arches an eyebrow. “Maybe I should’ve joined in your dance.”

But she shakes her head, stepping away and setting the bouquet down on the coffee table, and then taking both of his hands in hers and pulling him toward the middle of the living room. “I wasn’t dancing as Clara right now, I was the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her expression softening, something almost bittersweet touching her eyes. “In the ballet, the prima ballerina plays the Sugar Plum Fairy. It’s a great honor. And in the Red Room, when you were taught the Sugar Plum Fairy solo, it meant you were the best of the girls you were training with.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I was the first to learn the solo.”

He smiles as he cups her cheek, and she curves her hand over his, leaning into his palm, into his comfort. “I bet you were beautiful.”

She breathes out a laugh. “You always think I’m beautiful.”

“Because it’s always true,” he chuckles, leaning forward to brush a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “I’m going to look like an even bigger idiot trying to dance with you.”

Her smile brightens, and, _fuck_. There’s that smile he loves so much. “You won’t, as long as you have a good teacher and a good partner,” she promises, leaning in, her eyes sparkling. “Luckily for you, I’m excellent at both. Just try not to drop me and you’ll be fine.”

“Nat, you know I’d never drop you,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyelashes flutter when she says, voice softer, “I know.”


	26. Steve/Natasha + Steve falling in love with Nat's laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had never been quite this intense before. Or, maybe, she’d been so much better at ignoring it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **prompt:** watching Christmas movies + fluff and smut + Steve falling in love with Nat’s laugh  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> I know you wanted _Love, Actually_ but I’ve never actually seen it, nor any romantic kind of Christmas movie (sorry!) but I hope I still gave you what you wanted! 
> 
> Also, I set it in the friends with benefits ‘verse because the prompt just went so well with it.

It starts with a touch. That’s usually how it goes, with his hand sliding up and down her leg under the conference table, or her lips teasing against his jaw when he’s standing at the kitchen stove, their touch like a spark across their skin, until all their bodies are humming and their thoughts are hazy and all they can focus on is each other.

It’s dizzying, in the best way possible, and Natasha’s not really sure when that happened. Sleeping with Steve had always come with kind of high (hell, the first time they slept together had been a drunk fumble into their motel room after a mission) and it still does. Her skin tingles and her stomach flutters and it always feels a little bit like she can’t _breathe_. But it had never been quite this intense before. Or, maybe, she’d been so much better at ignoring it, because they’ve always spent all this time together. She’s spent more nights at his place, in _his_ bed, than in hers. But it’s as if now that they’ve crossed that delicate line, they can’t keep their hands to themselves. It started out as a good distraction. The _best_ distraction, really.

But now it’s all she can ever think about. It’s not just the sex, either. It’s _him_.

It’s Steve.

“ _Oh_ ,” she moans as his lips wrap around her oversensitive bundle of nerves, suckling gently, his forearm pressing a little harder across her stomach when she tries to roll her hips away.

It’s almost too much, but _fuck_ , it’s also not enough. She just came on his tongue and yet her body still craves him. It’s ridiculous.

“ _Steve_ , Steve,” she whimpers, arching her spine, her fingers clawing at the carpet so hard that she swears it might actually rip. She’s not quite sure how they ended up falling from the couch and onto the floor. She doesn’t even remember _feeling_ it. She just knows that her panties are ripped off and tossed somewhere across the floor, that her nightshirt is probably hanging off of the back of the couch, and that she knows her stomach must still be smeared with the chocolate sauce he drizzled and licked off. They’ll have to get the carpet cleaned.

He slides two fingers into her, groans against her folds, and she parts her lips in a sharp, soft cry.

Her second orgasm sneaks up on her. Or maybe she’s just too lost in the sensation, in Steve’s touch and his tongue, to feel it coming on the heels of her first until she’s already unraveling at the seams.

He keeps lapping at her clit as her body shudders, until she’s pushing at his forehead and whimpering his name. He chuckles – and, _fuck_ , she’s so sensitive that even _that_ has her body jolting – and presses a wet, sweet kiss to her hipbone. She lets out a soft mewl as he pulls his fingers out, purposefully, _teasingly_ grazing them over her folds as he crawls back up her body and settles himself above her. She can feel just how hard he is through his pajama pants as it presses into her stomach and it makes her heart flutter, makes her skin tingle. She needs him to be in her, but she needs to give herself a second to breathe, too. So she just hums, slips her hands under his shirt and slides it over the dips of his chest, licking her lips.

“You have chocolate on your lip,” she points out. His tongue darts out to swipe over the smudge of it on the corner of his lower lip, and she very nearly moans.

“I know.” He smirks. “I could taste it when I was tasting you.”

“Oh? And which one was your favorite?” she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.

He chuckles softly, his chest rumbling against hers as he dips down and kisses her, his tongue slipping past her lips. She whimpers at the taste of the dark chocolate, of _her_. “Still you,” he murmurs, nipping at her lower lip. “It’s always you.”

She laughs, kissing him again, a little deeper and a little slower. She wonders if he can feel how quickly her heart is beating in her chest.

She slips a hand between them, reaching for the waistband of his pajama pants, but he gently grasps her wrist and brings it up to his lips. He breaks their kiss, brushing one to the tops of her knuckles. “I’m okay for now,” he says. She arches an eyebrow. She knows what she feels, but he just chuckles. “I want to feel you under me a little longer, okay?”

She grins and shakes her head even as her heart practically stops in her chest. “You sound like something straight out of a romantic comedy,” she says, tipping her head toward the screen, where the Netflix Christmas movie they’d picked is still playing. She stopped paying attention maybe fifteen minutes into the thing, but that probably had to do with the way Steve was massaging his fingers over her scalp. There are kids running around in the snow on the screen, and she feels another laugh fall from her lips. “I can’t believe we had sex to that. I think this is the dirtiest thing we’ve done. Well,” she amends, laughing a little harder as she remembers the way he’d fucked her over Tony’s desk last week, “probably not.”

His lips twitch, the amusement very clear in his expression. But there’s something else, too. Something tender and sweet, making her breath catch.

“What?” She holds his gaze. “What is it?”

He swallows lightly, but somehow, she can tell it’s not out of nerves or embarrassment.

“I’m just…” His smile softens, _brightens._ “I’m in love with your laugh.”

Her heart flutters in her chest, a warmth unfurling, spreading through her veins. It’s intense. It’s _dizzying_. And she’s a little terrified, because she thinks she knows exactly what this is.

She reaches up to grasp his chin, running her thumb over his lower lip. She doesn’t say anything at first. She couldn’t find her voice even if she _tried_. But, this doesn’t seem to upset Steve. He’s still smiling at her, still gazing at her with an overwhelming kind of adoration in those bright, beautiful eyes, and she—

She’s in love with his everything.

She’s in love with _him_.


	27. Bruce/Selina + marriage + New Year's heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I figured you had some party to go to. Somewhere nice to see the fireworks.”
> 
> “Sarcasm really isn’t your thing, Bats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **prompt:** marriage + New Year's heist  
>  **for:** donnastroys
> 
> I’m still not over the fact that they’re engaged and this pile of fluffy trash is the result of that.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

Selina feels herself smile, glancing over her shoulder to find his silhouette perched on the other end of the ledge. She licks her lips and watches as he straightens out of his crouch. It’s ridiculous how attractive this man is: tall and towering, with broad shoulders and sculpted muscles and hard edges. Daunting, dangerous. So damn _sexy_.

“Oh, I thought I’d squeeze something in while the night is still young,” she says, straightening up and turning on her heels, balancing along the ledge as she walks toward him. She glances over the edge of the rooftop, down the height of the high-rise to the speeding cars and bustling crowds below. It always feels like a different world all the way up here, away from the chaos and blinding lights. The shadows are comforting, the quiet even more so, and most of all? The presence of the man standing across from her. She doesn’t frighten easily – or, rarely at all – but especially not with this man hovering over her shoulder, always so attentive, so alert. If she jumped right now, he would probably catch her in seconds.

“I figured you had some party to go to.” She can imagine him arching an eyebrow under that mask. “Somewhere nice to see the fireworks.”

She almost laughs. _Almost_.

“Sarcasm really isn’t your thing, Bats.” She comes to a stop in front of him, tilts her head as she reaches a hand out, presses her palm flat over the bat symbol stretched across his chest. He lifts his hand and wraps it gently around her wrist. Gives it a small squeeze.

“No, I guess not.” His lips twitch at the corners. Heaven forbid the man crack a smile once in a while. “Are going to tell me what you’re doing in your suit all the way up here, Cat?”

She chuckles, stretches on her toes, until their faces are inches apart. “Always straight to the point with you. I didn’t steal, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh?”

She doesn’t know how he manages to make that one syllable sound smug, and she doesn’t know why she loves it so much. “I’m _borrowing_ ,” she tells him, and then shrugs one shoulder as she amends, “well, sort of. But you won’t have to worry about it.” Grazing her lips over the apple of his cheek, she presses a soft, barely there kiss, relishing in the soft exhale that leaves his lips, the way his entire body seems to ease at her touch. “This is bad luck, you know.” She nips at his jaw. “Seeing your bride right before the ceremony.”

His hum is colored in amusement as he tightens his grip on her wrist, his other hand sliding over the small of her back and urging her closer. “I don’t believe in superstitions.”

She laughs. “Of course you don’t.” Leaning back to see his face, she arches an eyebrow. “But what if your bride does?”

“No, she doesn’t.” He _smirks_ at her, small but smug. “She wouldn’t be my bride if she did.”

“ _Ass_ ,” she breathes out, smiling too widely to mean it, and she can feel him smiling, too, when he leans in to slant his lips over hers.

He kisses her hard and rough, but with a tenderness that makes a warmth unfurl in her stomach, makes her blood race and her heart do this stupid little flutter in her chest. He doesn’t kiss her like she’s fragile, because he knows she isn’t. He doesn’t hold back like he’s trying to keep his composure, doesn’t hold her like he’s afraid she’ll slip right through his fingers.

He kisses her with certainty, with a comfort that he has knowing that she isn’t afraid, that she can handle it. She can handle _him_ , with all of his jagged lines and sharp edges, with his calloused hands and his rough touch. She relishes in the marks he leaves, in the way he gets so lost in his emotions, gets so lost in _her_ , that he’s a little careless. Calm, collected, and ever composed Bruce Wayne, turned into a swirling haze of want, because of her. Everything he keeps locked inside and pushed down comes undone by her touch, and she loves it.

She loves _him_.

He grasps her by her shoulder, leading her from the ledge and pressing her up against the brick of the skylight, kissing her harder, deeper. She’s tucked away from the rest of the world like this, surrounded by his cape, by all of his warmth and his muscles. She quite likes the idea of never having to leave. But.

“Easy, boy,” she chuckles, leaning away, twisting her head when he follows her lips. His mouth slides over the column of her neck instead, kissing her, and she hums. “Bat.”

“Cat,” he murmurs, suckling very gently over her pulse. She bites down on her lower lip.

“ _Bat_. We still have somewhere to be.” He hums, grazing his teeth against her skin, and she lets out a sharp laugh. “My dress won’t be able to cover a hickey, so don’t you _dare_.”

He breathes out a chuckle, lifts his head and kisses her on the lips, long and lingering. She wonders how pissed Lois would be if they were late.

Probably _very_ pissed.

She reaches up to cup his cheek, running her thumb over his bottom lip. “Unless you want to incur the wrath of my Maid of Honor, I suggest you let me leave to get ready.” Her lips curve into a smirk. “You may not believe in luck, but I’m fairly certain it isn’t a good sign for the groom to be chewed out because he’s late to his own wedding.”

He huffs out a breath but obeys, straightening up and loosening his grip on her, but not quite letting go, either. She knows the feeling.

“Are you really not going to tell me what made you put on your suit tonight?” he asks. She knows he’s not asking because he’s upset. He’s just curious.

“Let’s just say, it’s my _something new_ and _something blue_ ,” she tells him, reaching up to toy with the zipper of her suit, drawing his eyes to the dip of her breasts. “And it’s something you will be happy very I came here for, assuming you don’t rip it off of me out of pure impatience again.” His lips twitch ever so slightly _._ “It was supposed to be delivered yesterday except there was a mix-up, and the boutique is closed today, which just couldn’t do for our wedding night.” She grins. “It’s not technically stealing if it’s supposed to be mine, right?”

“That’s still arguable,” he says, and then he reaches for his belt, pulling out a slim, velvet box and opening it for her to see inside.

Pearls.

His mother’s pearls, she’s assuming, but not the same necklace she’s seen before. These are softer and more delicate: two strings of pearls intertwining, coming together in a rose diamond brooch. _Beautiful._ Her breath catches.

“My father gave these to my mother for their anniversary,” he tells her, slipping the lid back on. “She never wore them outside the house. Said they were too nice and she needed a good reason to show them off.” He places the box in her hand, curls her fingers around it. “But she would’ve given them to you today. _Something old_ and _something borrowed_.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in superstitions,” she says, her voice soft and a little shaky, and, _fuck_. If she starts tearing up, she’s going to be pissed.

“I don’t.” He grasps her chin in his fingers, tips her head and presses a soft, sweet kiss to her forehead. “But I believe in you.”

“ _Sap_ ,” she breathes out on a laugh, stretching on her toes to kiss him on his lips. It’s too soft and too swift for her liking, but if she gets lost in him again, they may never make it to the church. She tightens her grip on the pearls as she puts a few steps between them, glancing over her shoulder and smiling. “I’ll meet you at the altar, Bat.”

“It’s a date, Cat,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the way he smiles before she leaps away.


	28. Steve/Natasha + the Avengers meddling with mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She glances up as Steve does, finding a bundle of mistletoe tied from the ceiling above their heads, and she knows for damn sure that hadn’t been there during dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~2,300  
>  **prompt:** the Avengers meddling with mistletoe  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> My mind totally skipped over the part where you said they were at the Avengers Facility, so this takes place at the Barton House! Oops.

“Whoa, where’re you heading, buddy?”

Natasha turns her head to watch as little Nathan very nearly crashes into Steve’s legs when Steve rounds the corner into the living room. Steve scoops Nathan up, gripping him firmly and lifting him above his head in that way that always makes the kid burst into giggles. Nathan flails in delight, babbling what Natasha assumes is supposed to be an airplane noise, and Steve’s laughing as he brings Nathan back down, holding the kid at his hip. _Fuck_. Natasha knows she’s smiling too widely, but whatever. She hates sharing her godson with anyone, but Steve and Nathan are always too damn cute together that she lets it slide. Plus, she quite appreciates the view of Steve cuddling tiny little Nathan against one of his broad shoulders.

Nathan’s got something balled up in his little fist, but he uses his other one to point at where Natasha is sitting on the couch. “Nat!”

Steve catches her gaze, grins that boyish grin of his. Natasha ignores the stupid little flip her stomach does. “Yeah, that’s Auntie Nat,” Steve tells Nathan.

He shakes his head, points again and says, more insistently, “Nat!”

“You want to go to her?” Steve asks. Nathan nods, but as soon as Steve tries to put him down, Nathan makes a noise of protest and tugs on Steve’s sleeve in that way he does when he wants to keep being carried. Steve laughs and shakes his head, says, “Alright, buddy,” as he heads toward the couch.

Nathan’s face totally lights up when Natasha smiles at him, and he all but jumps out of Steve’s arms and into hers as soon as he’s close enough. Natasha hugs him close, presses a wet, sloppy kiss to his cheek, making the kid burst into another fit of giggles. She catches Steve’s gaze as he settles onto the couch beside her, his arm brushing against hers.

“What’s in your hand, Nathan?” Natasha asks, because he’s got his fist around a bundle of something Natasha is vaguely certain is a plant. Weird. She knows for sure that the kids haven’t gone outside tonight.

“Show Auntie Nat and Uncle Steve what you’ve got,” Clint’s voice chimes in as Clint comes in from the front porch, holding a plate of grilled steaks. There’s a touch of amusement tugging at the edges of his smile, and Natasha narrows her eyes ever so slightly before glancing down at Nathan’s fist as he opens his hand for her to see.

 _Mistletoe_.

Somehow, she’s not surprised.

Steve blinks, his expression frustratingly _blank_ for a moment, before he catches Natasha’s gaze and smiles. She hates that that’s all it takes and suddenly her irritation at Clint is gone.

“Kiss!” Nathan tells Steve, waving the mistletoe at Natasha.

Natasha glares at Clint and the guy looks too damn pleased with himself as he laughs. “You heard the kid!”

She rolls her eyes, glancing at Steve, who has that crooked, boyish smile of his that she loves more than she’ll ever admit. “You heard the kid,” he repeats, tucking a hand into her hair. She grins, too, ignoring the tug in her chest as he leans in and slants his lips over hers.

He kisses her, soft and slow and sweet, and she feels herself lean in ever so slightly as his thumb smooths over the apple of her cheek. Her lips remember how his kiss felt on that escalator years ago, remembers the way he followed her lead, but this is different. This time she’s the one taken by surprise, and he’s guiding her closer, taking the lead.

Nathan bursts into giggles, making her flinch back in surprise, blinking, barely catching the way Steve glances at her lips before looking away.

“That’s my boy,” Clint laughs, and Nathan slides off of Natasha’s lap and follows his dad out of the room, still waving the bundle of mistletoe around in his hand.

“Now are you regretting Laura’s invitation to spend the holidays here?” Natasha asks as she turns to Steve, willing her voice to be nonchalant despite the way her pulse has seemed to pick up, just a little.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah.” He licks his lips, giving her a dimpled smile. “It’ll be fun.”

... ...

“Steve, please,” Laura says with a bit of a laugh, trying to reach for Steve’s arm as he goes to pick up her plate. “Sit down. I’ll help Nat clear the table.”

“Just because I’m a guest doesn’t mean you have to wait on me, Laura. Let me help. Besides,” he adds, balancing the stack of dinner plates in one hand as he walks by Nathan in his high chair, using his free hand to ruffle his hair, “this guy will probably need all of your expert cleaning skills since he got most of his dinner on his shirt. Didn’t you, buddy?”

Nathan laughs, and Clint says, “At least he’s offering to help out. Unlike these lazy asses over here,” and nods his head at where Sam, Wanda, and Pietro are sitting at the table. Wanda blinks, sticking her lip out in a pout, and Clint feigns a groan. “Fine! Except for Wanda. You’re just as bad as Lilia, you know that, kid?”

“Dad!” Lila exclaims, and Wanda giggles and shakes her head.

Natasha feels herself smiling as she walks over to the sink, setting her stack of dishes in the sink and twisting on the faucet. Steve comes up behind her, passes his hand over the small of her back in a gesture that’s always sort of been _theirs_ – something subtle and comforting. She can’t really remember how it started, but now she’s almost come to expect it when he walks by her, giving her a small, dimpled smile. He sets his plates down on the counter, opens the dishwasher and pulls the top rack open for her as she starts rinsing off the dishes.

They fall into a comfortable silence as she scrubs the plates off and hands them over for him to load, but after a moment, Steve says, voice soft, “I’m glad you’ve had Clint and Laura.”

She pauses, glancing up at him. He’s smiling but there’s something – _different_ just behind his eyes. Something that makes her heart stutter ever so slightly.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Nowhere,” he says with a bit of a chuckle. “It’s just that seeing you here with them and the kids is nice. I know you never really knew your parents, but at least you have _them_ now.”

“Steve,” she says, her chest tightening, just a little. “You have them, too. Why else would you be here?”

“I’m here because of you.” He gives her a dimpled smile, his eyes shining, and she swears she almost holds her breath. “But I guess I’ve always kind of had you.”

Her lips part, tugging into a smile before she can catch herself. She doesn’t know what the hell anyone is supposed to say to that (damn Rogers and his damn _mouth_ ) but before she can even come up with a response, Sam interrupts, his voice calling out across the room from the table: “Hey Cap, head’s up!”

She glances up as Steve does, finding a bundle of mistletoe tied from the ceiling above their heads, and she knows for damn sure that hadn’t been there during dinner.

She turns to look at the table at Wanda, and though her smile seems innocent enough, she catches the tendrils of red light disappearing as the girl drums her fingertips atop the table. Natasha arches an eyebrow and the girl’s smile brightens. Natasha isn’t sure if she should be proud or annoyed. (Well, no. She’s pretty damn proud of how sly the girl has become.)

Steve breathes out a laugh, glancing at her lips again before catching her gaze, his eyes twinkling as he realizes that she’s caught him.

“What’s the matter, soldier?” She tilts her head. “You scared of a dame like me?”

“Well, you _are_ pretty damn terrifying,” he teases, catching her wrist swiftly when she goes to swat his arm, taking a step closer and hovering his lips over hers.

He kisses her harder this time, deeper, letting out a very low groan before swiping his tongue over the seam of her lips. She feels her breath catch in her throat, her lips parting, and he slides his tongue against hers and groans a little louder. She knows Steve, and she knows that part of this is because he’s being a little shit and putting on a show for their friends.

But she wonders how much of this is what he wants, too. He wonders if he’s still buzzing from their kiss earlier just like she is.

She doesn’t even realize that the glass she’s holding in her other hand is slipping from her fingers until she feels a burst of wind, and suddenly she’s stumbling back a little as Pietro slides between her and Steve, catching the glass before it can hit the ground.

He hands it to Natasha, his expression bright and smug, and Natasha laughs a little as she rolls her eyes, setting the glass in the dishwasher. Steve catches her gaze, giving her a dimpled grin, and she can feel her pulse still racing as Pietro turns on his heels and says to the others, “Let’s give them some alone time, shall we?”

... ...

“Mistletoe,” a voice chimes, and Natasha glances over her shoulder at the doorframe leading into the den, finding a bundle of mistletoe dangling overhead. Laura beams at little Nathan in Natasha’s arms as she walks past, carrying an armful of sheets for the fort that the kids want to build, and behind her, Steve is carrying about a dozen pillows.

Natasha laughs, arching an eyebrow. “You too, Laura?”

Laura ignores her. “Give Auntie Nat a kiss, Nathan,” she tells him, kissing one of Natasha’s cheeks, and Nathan giggles, kissing the other. Then Laura grins at Steve. “Your turn.”

Steve chuckles but complies, taking a step forward and leaning in to press his lips over hers. It’s a rather chaste kiss, short but sweet, but his lips linger over hers for a moment longer as if he’s not quite ready to pull away. She’s not sure why her heart is skipping in her chest, why her cheeks feel a little flushed and her chest feels a little tight. Maybe it’s because he’s kissing her while she’s holding little Nathan, and there’s something incredibly _domestic_ about the whole thing, and it’s kind of scary how nothing about this moment feels out of place.

She wonders if Steve feels it, too, because he lets out this sharp, shallow breath as he leans away, his stare heavy, practically pressing into her skin.

Nathan squirms in her arms, wanting to get down, and it takes a moment longer for her to actually tear her gaze from Steve so she can set him on his feet. Laura looks entirely too pleased with herself as she turns to follow Nathan into the den, and Natasha licks her lips, not quite catching her breath.

“You alright there, Romanoff?”

She breathes out a laugh, her heart still thrumming in her chest as she turns to look at him. _Fuck_. It’s ridiculous how much she loves that boyish smile of his.

“Yeah, Rogers,” she tells him, taking a few pillows from his arms and feeling herself grin. “I’m fine.”

... ...

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, and she certainly doesn’t remember falling asleep on top of Steve, sort of burrowed against his chest. She’s warm, of course, because Steve has always had this ridiculous amount of body heat, and also because he must’ve tucked up a fleece blanket around her shoulders when she’d fallen asleep. She glances across the den at where everyone is sprawled out in a tangle of blankets and sheets and pillows on the floor, with Nathan and Laura cuddled together on the couch. The kids had been the one to insist in camping out by the tree so they could open presents in the morning, and though she knows they would’ve rather slept in the beds Laura prepped, none of them could say no, either.

Her legs are tangled with Steve, his arm wrapped around her waist and his grip comforting and firm, even in his sleep. She shifts, braces herself on her elbow as she glances at his face in the dim glow of the twinkling tree lights. She feels her heartbeat pick up, feels her cheeks warm.

As if sensing that she’s awake, he starts to stir underneath her, his arm wrapping a little tighter around her waist, holding her a little closer. Her heart stutters. She knows she should look away, maybe pretend to go back to sleep, because she can feel the haze of sleep still tugging at her, and she’s not quite sure if she can catch herself in this moment.

She’s not quite sure if she _wants_ to, either.

He blinks his eyes open, getting this adorable wrinkle in his forehead as he opens his eyes, squinting as they adjust to the dark.

And then, when he sees her face, his entire expression eases, and her breath gets caught in her throat. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look so serene, look so _content_ , and she’s certain she’s never seen him gaze at her with such open adoration. There’s really no other way to describe it.

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy with sleep, and she feels a tingle slide down her spine as his hand smooths up from her waist and into her hair, cupping the back of her neck.

“Hi.” Her voice is soft, even to her own ears. Part of her is almost afraid to say anything, but a bigger part of her knows that she shouldn’t be. That she’s never been. “There isn’t any mistletoe around.”

His eyes are sparkling, because of course he knows what she’s really saying. “Can I still get a kiss from you, anyway?”

She breathes out a laugh, and she thinks she should feel a little terrified about how much she craves his kiss right now, but then he’s guiding her lips over his and she can’t think of anything else but him.


	29. Steve/Natasha + snuggling in bed for warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn’t know what to expect when they ducked into this bunker to escape the snowstorm, but it definitely wasn’t _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **prompt:** feeling safe in cold conditions + snuggling for warmth in bed + sleeping and bedding themes + snowed-in cabin  
>  **for:** two anons
> 
> Follow up to [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12883812/chapters/29722626) because it felt fitting for the prompts!

“I can take the couch.”

She laughs, grasps the front of his thermal in her fist and tugs him toward her, one eyebrow arched. “Don’t insult me, Rogers. I may not be a much of a lady, but I know my manners.” Stretching up on her toes, she grazes a kiss to his cheek, and then says, right into his ear: “You give me an orgasm, you get to share the bed with me.”

“ _Nat_ ,” he breathes out with a chuckle, squeezing his hands over her hips. He’s not embarrassed, necessarily, but she can absolutely feel his cheeks flush under the press of her lips, and she wonders if he’s remembering what they just did in the tub half an hour ago. If he’s picturing her first orgasm, with his grip almost bruising into her hips as he guided her over his lap; or her second orgasm, when he guided her onto her knees and sunk into her from behind, sloshing water onto the bathroom tiles with the force of their movements; or her _third_ orgasm, when he lifted her onto the edge of the tub and lapped through the tremors of her high, pushing her through another blissful peak as she tugged and tugged at his hair.

She didn’t know what to expect when they ducked into this bunker to escape the snowstorm, but it definitely wasn’t _that_.

“Just don’t want it to be uncomfortable for you,” he says. “That bed looks rather small.”

“That’s why people invented cuddling, Steve,” she teases as she tugs him forward, falling onto the bed and pulling him over her. She hooks her legs around his hips and actually winces ever so slightly at the dull ache already pinching at her muscles. “And if you’re worried about making me uncomfortable, it’s too late. You wore me out more than our mission did.”

“Nat, don’t,” he says, voice soft, and for a moment, she swears she’s holding her breath as he holds her gaze. His grin turns a little wry at the corners and her chest sort of tightens. “I promise I’ll respect your decision if you want to be casual about what just happened,” he tells her, “but it was still a big deal for me.”

His expression is almost apologetic, like he doesn’t want her to be upset for asking in the first place, and honestly, she’s not even upset that he’d think she would brush it off like what they did was just some fling. Because if it was a few years ago, and if it was anyone but _him_ , that’s exactly what she would’ve done. She’s always been so careful to keep as few strings as possible, because it’s just easier to do what she does without having to lie or worry about letting someone down. But of course, Steve came along and completely ruined it for her.

Because she _cares_ what he thinks of her, cares about not disappointing him and cares about making him proud.

A shaky, relieved laugh bursts from her lips, and, _fuck_ , she feels a little bit like she’s shaking, and she knows it’s not from the cold. She cups her hands over his face, strokes her thumbs over the apples of his cheeks.

“Steve,” she says, her voice soft even to her own ears. “It was a big deal for me, too.”

He holds her gaze as he swallows lightly. “Yeah?” He practically whispers the word, but it’s not out of nerves. She knows. She can see it in the way his eyes are shining, the way his lips are tugging ever so slightly at the corners, like he’s barely holding back a smile. She nods, and his entire expression _brightens_ , and her heart does this stupid little flip in her chest.

He looks so _happy_ , and she loves that she’s the reason why.

“Good.”

She lets out another laugh, drawing his lips to hers, and just like that, what little nerves they had both been feeling completely dissolve. She doesn’t know how she could get so lucky. How things can be so easy with Steve. It should be terrifying how attuned they are to each other, how her mood is simply _better_ just by being with him.

But it doesn’t scare her, not even a little. She knows that this means something, but for once in her life, she doesn’t want to figure it out on her own. She wants them to figure it out _together_.

They make a great team, after all.

“Okay, then,” he says against her lips, his thumb circling over the scar on her hip, “I think it’s time to cuddle.”

She _laughs_ and shakes her head, pretending to push him off of her, but he wraps an arm around her and rolls them over so that she’s on top of him, straddling his legs. His hand smooths up her back, tangling into her hair as his fingers gently massage her scalp, and she hums, gnawing on her lower lip and leaning into his touch. She tucks her hands under the hem of his thermal, dipping her fingers over the contours of his abs. _Fuck_ , it’s unfair for him to have a body like this. “Fine,” she says as she rolls her hips over his, relishing in the way his chest rumbles in a groan. It’s ridiculous for her body to crave him so much already, just barely after she’s caught her breath, but whatever. “Then let’s get out of these clothes.”

He looks amused. “I don’t think that counts as cuddling, Nat.”

His thumb hooks into the waistband of her sweats as he says this, though, so she hardly thinks he’s against the idea. “Sharing body heat is more effective when it’s direct,” she reminds, her lips curving into a smirk. “We may have hours before the extraction team can get us out of here. Might as well stay warm.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks with a laugh, drawing her lips to his, and her heart flutters because she knows he’s not just teasing her.


	30. Steve/Natasha, Bucky/Wanda, Sam/Sharon + gift-giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His best friend and his _fiancé_ , and his wife, pregnant with their child, chatting like they’d been old friends. Like they were meant to come into each other’s lives all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** gift-giving  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> Last time I wrote about [the girls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12883812/chapters/29690736) so now it’s time for the boys!

“So,” someone says, and Steve glances over his shoulder as Sam walks up to him at the bar, sliding his emptied tumbler onto the counter. “Pregnant, huh?”

Steve feels his heart sort of jump in his chest, a smile tugging at his lips before he can quite catch himself. Not that he’d want to. Ever since he’d learned that Natasha was pregnant – _pregnant_ – he hasn’t been able to wipe the grin off of his face. He remembers almost a lifetime ago when he wanted things like a wife and a house and kids with wide, bright eyes and toothy smiles. Even when he woke up in a new time, in a new world, with an entirely different life, part of him still hoped for that dream, and maybe that had been part of why he had such a hard time adjusting. He was stuck decades in the past, clinging onto a dream he knows ( _now_ , at least) he wasn’t opening himself up to. He wanted it, but he didn’t want to _try_.

He was terrified of having the ground yanked out from underneath him again. He was terrified of going under.

But then Natasha knocked him on his ass, and, well. That had been exactly what he needed.

He has always found her beautiful, of course. But in that way that seemed distant, like something he would always admire, but never quite have for himself. She had those big, bright eyes that drew him in, and that soft laugh that made his breath catch, and that secret little smile that made him feel like he wasn’t so out of place.

Like maybe he’d come to this time for a reason.

He remembers, too, the night that he felt like he could make a new life for himself. That night when Tony had them over at the penthouse, for another one of his dinner parties Steve didn’t see the need for. But they were _fun_ , especially when he could see Natasha so at ease, lounging on the couch and sipping on some fruity drink he knew she hated but still drank because Pepper put it in her hand. They crashed at the penthouse that night, and Nat, with her cheeks flushed and her eyelids a little heavy and that little grin of hers, had tugged him onto the bed with her, laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling with this faraway look in her eyes as she told him what the Red Room had done to her. What it had _taken_ from her.

He never thought a smile could look so beautiful and bittersweet at the same time, but hers did. And he couldn’t remember the last time his chest had felt so tight.

She’d drifted off to sleep before he could say anything, and he laid there beside her, listening to her steady breaths. He wondered what it would feel like to have something taken from him before he realized he wanted it. Maybe his dream felt less like _his_ with every passing day, but he could still have it, if he wanted. He could have a lovely wife and a white picket fence and kids running around the front yard. He _could_. But, lying beside Natasha, her words still lingering in his head, he realized that maybe he finally moved on. He finally let go of the past.

He didn’t need it anymore. Not the way he needed Natasha.

“It’s crazy to think about,” Steve admits to Sam, leaning against the bar as he looks across the room at Natasha. She’s sitting on the couch with Wanda, the two of them laughing, and Bucky is standing behind Wanda with his hands massaging her shoulders, maybe the happiest Steve has seen his friend.

His best friend and his _fiancé_ , and his wife, pregnant with their child, chatting like they’d been old friends. Like they were meant to come into each other’s lives all along.

“You two deserve it, man,” Sam says, giving Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. “She looks so happy.”

“She is,” Steve says, grinning a little wider. He knows part of Natasha is still in a bit of a daze over the situation – over the fact that she was able to conceive at all – but they’re just taking each day as it comes. For once, he thinks, neither of them is all that worried about the future. “We both are.” Arching an eyebrow, he adds, “It’s your turn, you know.”

“What?”

“Nat’s pregnant, Buck and Wanda are engaged.” Steve’s lips quirk at the corners. “You and Sharon are the next in line to do something big.”

“Maybe we’ll elope,” a voice chimes in, and Sam laughs as Sharon comes up beside him, tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow as she kisses his cheek. “Hi.”

“Hello there,” Sam says. “I hope you know if we elope, babe, your best friends are going to come after _me_.”

“I’ll protect you,” she promises with a cheeky smile, and Sam says, “yeah, you will,” before leaning in for another kiss, this time on her lips, and Steve sort of chuckles as he glances away to give them some privacy.

He turns to find Natasha waltzing up to him, with Wanda and Bucky following behind her, Bucky’s arm slung over Wanda’s shoulder and Wanda giggling as he whispers something into her ear. Nat has that smile of hers that’s somehow sweet and incredibly _sexy_ at the same time, and, _fuck_. Steve hopes he always gets that tingle that slides down his spine whenever she walks his way. “Hi, beautiful,” he says, grasping her hip and drawing her close. He slants his lips over hers as his other hand slides between them, flattening over her stomach.

“Hey, soldier.” Her voice is soft and breathy, and he kisses her a little harder, deeper, pressing his palm more firmly against her stomach. “Steve,” she laughs. “Stop.”

“Can’t help it.” He smooths his fingertips over the silky material of her dress, sliding his hand up her side, to her tiny waist.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky cuts in with a feigned groan, half-heartedly tugging Natasha back to break their kiss, and, instinctively, Steve draws her to his chest. Bucky looks totally smug as he shakes his head at them. “We’re still in a public place, you know. We don’t need to see a reenactment of how you knocked her up.”

“ _James_ ,” Wanda says, holding a hand over his mouth. He kisses her palm and then tugs it away, dropping another kiss onto her temple, and she shakes her head with a grin.

“Did your friend tell you the big news?” Natasha asks Steve, glancing at Sharon and Sam with a smile.

Sam opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Wanda practically bursts out, “He asked Sharon to move in with him!”

Sharon giggles, and Sam is practically beaming when Steve says, one eyebrow raised, “He left that little detail out, actually.” Sam shrugs a shoulder and Steve reaches over to give his shoulder a squeeze. “Congratulations, you two. I’m almost too touched to be pissed that you didn’t tell me first even though I told you about Bucky’s gift for Wanda.”

Natasha shoots him a glare. “You knew about Wanda’s kitten and you didn’t tell _me?_ ”

Steve laughs, smoothing his hand over her back. “Love, you’re terrible at keeping secrets from your best friends. You’re a sucker for her pout.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smile, and Wanda giggles as she tells her, “If it makes you feel better, Nat, Steve is even worse than you. I barely even had to bat an eyelash for him to tell me about your trip to Russia.”

“What?” Natasha asks, arching an eyebrow at Steve. Wanda’s eyes go a little wide as her gaze snaps onto Steve’s, and he just laughs again, shaking his head. “What trip?”

He can tell Wanda’s about to start apologizing, so he just tugs her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re fine, darling. It’s more fun telling her this way.” Wanda shrugs her shoulders cutely, tucking herself into Bucky’s chest, and Steve grasps Natasha’s chin with his fingers and tips her head up to hold his gaze. She blinks up at him, her eyes big and bright and sparkling as she waits for him. “I planned a trip to Russia for us, if you’d like to go,” he tells her, stroking his thumb over the apple of her cheek, relishing in the feel of her flushed skin under his touch. “I know not every memory is going to be great, but it’s still a part of who you are, and it’ll be part of our child, too. And that’s enough for me to love it.”

“ _Steve_.” She blinks once, twice, three times, her eyelashes dotting with the tears he knows she’s trying to hold back. “ _Fuck_ , if you make me cry, I swear.”

He _laughs_ , wrapping his arms around her and tucking her face into his neck. “You can blame it on the pregnancy hormones,” he whispers into her ear, and he knows their friends are watching them, but all he doesn’t care. All that matters is Natasha. “I promise I won’t tell.”

She breathes out a laugh against his neck, tipping her head up to meet his gaze. “You might not love Russia,” she says, and he grins because he knows she’s mostly teasing.

“I will,” he promises, sliding his hand between them again, smoothing it over the flat of her stomach. She blinks up at him, her smile bright and brilliant and beautiful, and he wonders if he’s imagining the way her stomach flutters ever so slightly under his touch. “There’s no part of you I’m not in love with.”


	31. Steve/Natasha + decorating their hospital room for the holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers being pulled back, Steve’s fingers digging into her arm as he spun her around, putting himself between her and the crowd as agents flooded the stage. Everything after that is just a _blur_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** decorating their hospital room for the holidays  
>  **for:** swietek93
> 
> Set in the royal ‘verse because I couldn’t resist. Also, you totally predicted your own prompt fill without realizing it and it was kind of freaky and awesome at the same time.

The moment is a blur. She never quite understood when people said that before, when they’ve gone through something traumatic. She always wondered how it’s possible to forget something that changes your life so abruptly.

But, now she gets it.

She remembers standing with Tony at the podium, remembers staring out at the crowd of smiling, eager faces as Tony recited his carefully-crafted speech. Then she remembers being pulled back, Steve’s fingers digging into her arm as he spun her around, putting himself between her and the crowd as agents flooded the stage. Everything after that is just a _blur_.

She doesn’t remember hearing the gunshot, or the cries of panic that burst over the crowd, and she definitely doesn’t remember the moment she realized that there was blood sticking to the front of her dress. Steve’s blood. Everything felt hazy and dizzy and faraway as agents yanked her away, shouting orders at each other, and their complete composure amidst the ringing chaos had made the moment even more disorienting, if possible. Tony told her that she hadn’t screamed, hadn’t even whimpered, but that her cheeks were wet with tears as she struggled against the agents that were trying to get her into the back of a royal service vehicle. She only stopped resisting the moment they got her into the back seat, when Tony had his arms around her in a firm grip, whispering into her ear. She doesn’t remember a word he’d said. She just remembers crumpling into his chest, feeling faint.

The caravan takes them to the back entrance into the castle where rows of agents are waiting to escort them inside, lining the hallways and standing at the doors as she and Tony are lead to the throne room. Her parents aren’t home and she knows this, but Aunt Peggy and Agent Coulson are waiting for them, and Aunt Peggy’s face sort of cracks a little at the edges as she pulls them both close and hugs them a little longer and a little tighter than she usually would. She’s never, ever seen her aunt cry before, and seeing it now makes Natasha feel like even more of a wreck, if possible. But then her aunt takes a breath, her expression smoothing into a composed, reassuring smile as she says that the situation is being handled.

Agent Coulson tells them that they apprehended the shooter, and that Steve is being rushed into surgery right now, and Natasha lets out a shaky, shallow breath.

“He’s strong, darling.” Aunt Peggy takes both of Natasha’s hands in hers, giving them a squeeze. Tony and Agent Coulson are still talking about the shooting, but Natasha can’t bring herself to listen to the details. Not yet. And of course her aunt notices. “He’ll be just fine.”

She knows her aunt wants to comfort her, but, “We don’t know that yet.”

“We do.” She doesn’t know how the woman can sound so certain. “Now, let’s get you out of these clothes. You’ll give your father another heart attack if he sees you like this.”

Natasha couldn’t care less about what a mess she must look like, but she nods, letting Aunt Peggy walk her down the winding hallways to her room. There are four agents stationed outside her door, and two more waiting inside her suite, standing at both windows, and Natasha _hates_ that she still feels anxious.

She can hear voices through the door as she takes her shower, and she assumes that it must be Agent May and Agent Morse, so it startles her a little when she steps out of the bathroom to find her father and her mother talking with Tony and Aunt Peggy in the middle of her bedroom. Her father’s gaze snaps onto hers, and he crosses the small distance and gathers her in his arms before she can barely blink. She swallows through the tightness in her throat, but then she’s being pulled from his arms and into her mother’s, and she tucks her face into the curve of her mother’s neck, letting out a soft whimper as her mother murmurs, “my darling, I love you, my beautiful darling,” over and over again into Natasha’s ear.

She can’t remember the last time her mother has held her like this. Not since she was little, she’s certain.

“ _Steve_ ,” Natasha whispers, lifting her head to meet her mother’s gaze. She’s not sure what she wants to say, but her mother seems to already know, giving her a soft, easy smile as she lifts a hand to cup Natasha’s cheek.

“I know, darling.” Her mother’s smile tugs at the corners. “He’s in love with you. That means nothing will stop him from coming back to you.”

“Mother,” Natasha breathes, glancing over her shoulder at her father. His lips are pressed together, but he doesn’t look _upset_ , at least. Then Tony steps forward to set a hand on their father’s shoulder, giving him a look, and their father’s expression softens ever so slightly. “I’m in love with him, too,” she says, holding her father’s gaze.

“We know,” her mother says, smoothing a hand over her back. “Does _he_ know?”

Natasha nods, swallowing again, not glancing away from her father. “We were going to tell you, together. We were going to do it soon. Steve wanted to a while ago but I didn’t feel ready yet.” Her voice quivers ever so slightly. “Please don’t hold it against him, Father. You can still trust him.”

Her father scoffs, lips twitching at the corners. “Of course I can. I wouldn’t have entrusted my daughter’s life in his hands if I didn’t trust him.” Natasha lets out a shaky breath, pulling herself from her mother’s arms and walking over to her father, burrowing herself into his chest. He gives her a squeeze, kissing her hair. “We can talk about it later, princess.”

She nods, not realizing that she’s crying again until her father wipes at the corner of her eye with the pad of this thumb, giving her soft, reassuring smile.

... ...

If her presence here is disrupting the hospital, no one has told her as much, and she realizes, yes, that may have to do with who she is. She would be lying if she said she’s never used her name to get her way before, but now more than ever, she wouldn’t have been ashamed to do so if it meant she would be able to stay right by Steve’s bedside.

His surgery went as smoothly as they could hope considering how deep the bullet was and how much blood he actually lost. He’s woken up, too, but not in the twelve hours she’s been in his hospital room and of course she’s _worried_ , even if every nurse that comes in tells her that he simply needs the rest, and that it’s not uncommon for the pain medications to make him this drowsy. She knows this, and she’s thankful for their understanding. Having six agents standing at attendance simply so Natasha could sit at Steve’s bedside must be disrupting to their routine and she’s grateful that the staff isn’t making a big deal of it. She’s also grateful that they don’t press the gossip that must be circulating about her being here for so long.

(Of course, that might be because of the look that Wanda gives the nurse that tries to bring it up.)

“We should really get you home soon, Your Highness,” Agent Lang starts to say, but Agent Barton just rolls his eyes and laughs, “Yeah, good luck with that,” as he hands Natasha the chilled bottled water that she asked for. “Come on,” he adds, nudging Agent Lang forward. “Let’s take a stretch.”

Agent Lang starts to protest, but Clint just walks him to the door, winking at Natasha before shutting the door behind them, and a quiet falls over the room. Wanda had left with James to find dinner for Natasha, though Natasha knows better. Wanda has always been able to read Natasha’s moods, and she knew that she wanted some space for a little while.

She lets out a breath as she glances around the room, taking in the abundance of garland and ornaments and paper snowflakes that she and Wanda had hung throughout the room in Wanda’s attempt in passing the time. It seems strange to think that the holiday is only a few days away. That, barely two days ago, she and Steve had talked about coming clean to her parents before the holiday gala that the royal family throws every winter. She remembers her heart had _fluttered_ at the thought that, maybe, Steve could finally come as her escort.

She’s stayed away from any media attention that her parents don’t tell her themselves, so she can only imagine what people must be saying about her and Steve. He may be her bodyguard, and it may be his _job_ to take a bullet for her, but that won’t stop people from thinking what they want about after this incident.

She can only imagine what the talk would be if she missed the holiday gala to be with Steve. Never mind the fact that, in this case, they would be _right_.

“Mistletoe.”

The word is low and gravelly and a little bit slurred, and it makes her breath catch as her gaze snaps onto Steve. He’s smiling at her, his eyelids still heavy with sleep, but they’re as bright and blue and beautiful as she remembers and she lets out this little whimper at the sight of them.

“Really?” She pretends to be annoyed, but she’s far from it. She takes his hand, threads their fingers together and squeezes softly. “ _That’s_ your first word to me?”

He chuckles, gripping her fingers as best as he can. “Yeah.” His lips twitch at the corners. “Because I feel like shit and I could really use a kiss from my girlfriend right now.”

Her heart actually skips a beat at that word, and she lets out a shaky laugh, leaning over the bed railing. “You were going to get one anyway,” she says before slanting her lips over his, soft and slow and sweet. She doesn’t realize that she’s tearing up until she blinks her eyes open a moment later, her vision blurred. “You took a bullet for me.”

“I know.” He lifts his hand from hers, gently grazing his knuckles over her wet cheek.

“You saved my life.”

His gaze drops onto her lips, his smile widening ever so slightly as he brushes his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “Saved my life, too,” he says, voice soft, almost too soft for her to catch, and her breath catches as his eyes flick back up to hers.

 _You are my life_.

A tear slides down her cheek as she leans over to kiss him again, a little slower and a little deeper, and he slides his hand over the curve of her neck, smiling against her lips as he feels the thrum of her pulse under his fingertips.


End file.
